Split Second: The Beginning of the Elite
by Glorytommy
Summary: Ever wonder just how these amazing racers came to be who they are today? Well, your about to find out.
1. Introduction

**Split / Second – The Beginning of the Elite**

~Prologue~

Split/Second. A reality TV show that took the world by storm.

Fans of racing and action watch as drivers are pinned against each other in a chance to win money and gain glory. Viewers are drawn in by the death defying stunts and the breathtaking explosions that never fail to happen in each episode.

Even Split/Second's 'Elite' have gotten their own fan base.

These players are masters behind the wheel and mysteries off the track. No one can help but to get drawn into the skill and personality that these amazing drivers give off.

But just who are these people?

Sadly there is little that the public know about these icons. Not even their real names are given. This gives one the sense that they've got something to hide…

But what exactly?

The Elite Racers are made up of seven talented drivers, the first—and probably most talented—being the infamous 'Raptor'. He's a rather apathetic fellow, doesn't speak much unless spoken to, and is a bit on the lazy side but his terrific driving skills on the track make up for it. When interviewed he seems to show a calm and polite side to him, but if one were to _really_ pay attention to his words there are many times he insults a reporter or a fellow racer—whether it is for kicks no one is sure, but it gives him the appearance of being a bit of an ass. The other Elite never seem to really have anything good to say about him when asked, but one can tell that they respect him in a way that only a fellow driver can. Surprisingly, despite his personality he does have a rather large number of fans—as any well-known attractive guy would.

The next person on the list is a woman known to the world as 'Vixen'. She's described as a beautiful young lady with a love for competition. Unlike Raptor, Vixen is a more sociable person—though she often exhibits rather crude language even in interviews and is a bit awkward in front of the camera. She gives off a 'take me or leave me' aura whenever asked about her faults, but there have been times when she's gotten pissed at someone, which—due to her hotheaded nature—never ends up pretty. Vixen is both fierce and down to earth and because of this many woman who watch the show look up to her as a bit of a role model. She is often see making fun of Raptor and is the only one that he holds a long conversation with. She once told an interviewer that it was her mission to "get that stick out of his ass and make him show a little emotion"—whether she has ever succeeded no one knows.

Then there's 'Live Wire'. A playboy with a knack for popping up when you least expect him. He is charismatic and has such a way with words that out of all the males on the show he is the favorite of the female fan basis. But despite his care free attitude, the guy knows his way around the track. He finds short cuts that most people overlook and uses them at just the right moment that one would think he knew they were there all along. His fellow drivers have all echoed each other in agreeing that the guy is pretty much a "cocky bastard and a womanizer". Which, is probably true. However, Live Wire has shown through his performance on the track that he has more than just a pretty face and can actually be rather cunning.

After him we have 'Torpedo'. A punk rocker with a love for sticking his nose into other people's business. He's the kind of guy that looks unapproachable at first glance, but actually isn't that bad. He's got a sort of High school delinquent vibe about him and he's pretty laid back. Torpedo is said to have a pretty good relationship with his fellow Elite and pretty much everyone else on the show. He's a bit of a party animal and is often spotted hanging out with Live Wire and Vixen around the local clubs. Because of his easy going nature he is the second favorite male in the eyes of female viewers. There have been many debates between female fans whether Live Wire or Torpedo should be named the most attractive, but they have never been settled.

Following him is 'The Hammer'. A country girl with a tomboy-ish attitude. She seems like the most innocent out of the seven of them and is seen as a kind of little sister figure. The public knows a bit more about The Hammer than the other members of the Elite as she has revealed small details about her past, such as the fact that she is the youngest of five and the only daughter of her parents and that she was born and raised in Texas. Though that was the only information that reporters could squeeze out of her, before she skillfully changed the subject. She is the youngest of the Elite, who all—in some shape or form—seem it be a bit protective over her.

Then there's 'Brawn'. Who is a bit on the naïve side and would almost seem like a child if not for his strength and tall figure. At first glance, Brawn gives off the appearance of the strong and silent type but after exchanging a few words a person's impression of his changes drastically. He's slow at catching things that are implied and wears a bit of a goofy grin when he's speaking with someone. His personality and image do not match each other at all, but he does have a small fan base that loves that about him.

Last but not least there's 'Rigg'. His skills are the lowest of the elite but still higher than the average driver and are still growing with each passing day. He does his best to prove that big cars can be just as fast as the popular small and sleek brands every time he hits the asphalt. Rigg is seen as a big tough guy, but shows a bit of a softer side when a person least expects him to. He and Brawn often hang around The Hammer and give the appearance of two protective big brothers whenever they're about her. As for the rest of the Elite, Rigg is on pretty neutral terms with them and the feeling seem to be mutual.

Split/Second was fortunate enough to find talents as good as these, but this of course raises another question. Just how did these people end up in such a position?

Well that my dear reader is what shall soon be revealed to you.

* * *

><p>Hey there readers,<p>

This fanfiction is a background story about how the Elite came to be the Elite. I figured a chapter like this would be the best way to set it up, in the next chapters I'm going to be diving into everyone's past so you'll know where their all coming from and why they are the way that they are.

Keep reading and I'm sure that you'll enjoy it~!

~ Glory


	2. Story 1, Part 1 : Daddy's Girl

**Story One – Alexandra Adams**

Part 1

_Seven_.

A young, boy-ish looking girl sighed leaning against an old wooden workbench. The small shop in which she currently resided was dimly-lit, but she was still able to see her playground perfectly.

The garage, of course, was no place for playing but that didn't stop her from referring as one. It was a place she spent most of her time in, a lot of it was just watching as things got done but there were more than enough times she was allowed to help—and she anticipated those times every minute she spent there. Smiling at the thought of getting another chance, she tilted her head back, her dirty-blonde bob following its movements as she took in the comforting smell of metal and grease.

Flexing her fingers, she held back the urge to just pick up a tool and butt in to the current project. Though, as much as she wanted to, she knew that she'd just get in the way. Besides, she was asked to go home hours ago because they could find nothing else for her to do, so—as she saw it—she was pretty much walking on thin ice by just observing.

Golden eyes glanced lazily at the clock—nine thirty it looked like it said. Thus, if she was right, meant that it was getting late. Honestly, telling time via face clock was never her strong suit—nor was paying attention to her teacher… but honestly who did that anymore?

Holding in a yawn, she shifted her gaze to the BMW parked in the middle of the workzone. She could vaguely remember the day that it was brought in, Ol' Wilson—one of the shops regulars—leant it to his nephew for a day, only for it to end up in a pile up. The car had become completely totaled and from day one it was a chore trying to get the thing back to its former glory. They eventually did it though; the only thing that was left to get right was the engine. Though there was no doubt in her mind that they would get it done, she held confidence in the people who worked there.

Her eyes shifted over to the two males huddled around the hood of the vehicle, a tender look crossing her features at their focused faces. She was proud to say that she knew them both rather well. The younger of the two being her sixteen year old neighbor and childhood friend, Randell Greybull—though he often went by Ray. He was older than her by nine years but they got along rather well and over time she'd grown to see him as a kind of big brother figure. The older of the two was the shop's owner and her father, Arthur Adams, who she proudly labeled, 'Most Awesomest Mechanic/Dad in the World'—seriously, she had it on a mug and everything.

"Alex."

The sound of her father's voice broke her from her deep thinking and their matching gold eyes met. "Yeah?"

"Hand me the wrench." Her ordered gesturing over in a general direction.

"Aye. Aye. Captain." She remarked playfully and turned on her heel with a salute, making sure to follow his finger to her destination. Alex knew where everything was in the shop. She spent just about all her free time there after all. And the reason? Cars. She loved helping her father fix them, but even more so she loved the sound of engines roaring and the sleek feel of a new coat of paint. She often found herself dreaming of one day sitting behind the wheel of one of them.

Picking up the appropriate tool off the bench, she skipped over and handed it to the mechanic receiving a light ruffle of her hair as a reward. Smiling cheekily, Alex snuck a glance under to hood as her father added his finishing touches. "So that's the new engine?"

"Yep. Nice, right?" her papa asked grinning, the stick of a newly unwrapped lollipop wedged between his teeth.

"Uh-huh." She nodded, tugging at her cargo shorts and cocking her head to the side, "Will it make a nice sound?"

Her father and his assistant exchanged a smirk, "Let's see shall we? Care to do the honors, Ray?"

The green-eyed teen shrugged as he was tossed the keys, "Sure, why not." Despite trying to act nonchalant the boy didn't waste any time sliding into the driver's seat and sticking the key into the ignition. He had received his permit not too long ago and still had the excitement almost all teens had about getting behind the wheel. Alex was a bit jealous of him. It'd be years before she'd be able to drive—eight years and seven months to be exact.

Ray started her up and the engine made a nice purr before roaring as more pressure was applied to the gas. The two Adams' gave each other a high five at the success. It had taken more than a few nights to fix it, but now it was finished and ready for Ol' Wilson.

Turning off the engine, Ray stepped out of the car and leaned against the door, "Sounds like she's all better."

"Mn-hm." Mr. Adams nodded, shutting the hood and giving his back a good crack. "You know, I'm hungry. Let's celebrate with some pizza, who's in?"

"I am!" and "Yeah, Why not," were the replies.

* * *

><p><em>Ten<em>.

Mr. Adams leaned over the kitchen sink, absentmindedly glancing out the window of his small third-floor apartment.

All was quiet. His daughter, Alexandra, was away at school and until her return he was left to contemplate life in silence. Memories of the past seemed to claw its way to the surface of his consciousness in the absence of his offspring, not all completely welcome. Images flashed through his mind—pictures of a woman who had long since left the world in which he dwelled.

'_Hey Arty look at this.'_

'_Arty isn't that amazing?'_

'_I bet she'll grow up to be just like you.'_

'_I love you, Arthur.'_

Her smiling face both pained him and gave him happiness. He didn't know whether to smile or break down into tears—though he was sure he didn't have any more to shed.

His eyebrows furrowed as one of his increasingly frequent pains resurfaced, burning his chest. He clenched his shirt and took a deep breath, lidded eyes staring at the sky. "I miss you, you know." The man spoke sweetly, talking to an invisible entity created, possibly, from the depths of his troubled mind. "I often ask myself what you would do. Alex is a good kid, but sometimes I don't know if I'm giving her what she needs… I'm no woman you know." He joked forcing a light chuckle. "Can I really do this?"

It was a question Arthur asked to the sky often. Though, he tried to keep himself calm in front of his daughter, like any parent would, he wasn't as strong as everyone seemed to think he was. A man who loved as hard as he did would always get twice as hurt when someone was taken from him… especially if that someone was his wife—it was his number one weakness.

As if answering his question, a light breeze pasted by, setting off the homemade wind chimes Alexandra made for Father's Day. Arthur smiled lightly for a moment at the memory, but it faded almost as quickly as it came and he began to feel the weight of his depression warring on him.

He needed to get rid of this feeling.

Hesitantly, he pulled out a box of cigarettes from the top shelf of one of the high cabinets. Unknown to his daughter he had not given up smoking. The only time he substituted with candy was when she was around. At school one day, Alex learned about the side effects of smoking and as soon as she was home she'd given him a long lecture about it. Not wanting to disappoint her he played along and pretended to give it up. It wasn't really that he couldn't stop smoking, but just because he could it didn't mean he wanted to.

Lifting one of the few cancer sticks left in the box he lit it and took a long drag. The smoke traveled through his system and pushed the unwanted memories back into their locked box. Whether this was an addiction or not, this was his escape. It kept him sane.

Exhaling, he let muscles relax and an air of calm wash over him. A feeling of normality came back and he leaned against the counter, taking another puff. The action repeated for a seemingly long amount of time until his mind settled completely.

"Papa! Papa!" an excited shrill called, the sound of the front door slamming soon after.

Quickly ditching the cigarette he watched in curiosity as a blur of blond zoomed into the kitchen. "What is it, Sport?" He questioned opening the window to air out the room.

"I got an A+ on my math test! See?" she exclaimed proudly, gasping for breath as she shoved the paper in his face.

"What? No way." he replied in mock disbelief, his parent persona finding its way back to his features as he scanned over the sheet. "You sure you didn't cheat off some nerd sitting next to you?" he added jokily.

"Hey!" Alex countered in playful protest.

Mr. Adams gave her a smile and patted her on the head, "Let's hang this up, yeah?"

"Ok!"

* * *

><p><em>Twelve<em>.

Alexandra grinned widely at the chorus of off key singing as she stared widen-eyed at the dozen glowing candles eliminating the darkened room.

Everyone was there for her special day, even Ol' Wilson and his son had dropped by at some point. Though they had to leave early, it was still an appreciated gesture. She bounced as she anticipated the song's end, when it can she took a deep breath and blew.

Unexpectedly, the fire on the candles swayed but didn't diminish.

Alex frowned and gave her dad a confused look. When had birthday candles gotten so hard to blow out? Mr. Adams moved the camera out his face for a moment and gave her a mischievous grin, "Try harder."

Her frowned deepened in suspicion, but turned her attention back to the candles blowing on them with more force. The light on a few went out, but as she went to blow out the others, they lit back up again. "Huh?"

"You're probably not blowing hard enough," Ray chuckled from his spot to her right.

"Am too." She huffed, before trying again. One flame seemed to die out for good but the others re-lit themselves… again. Alexandrea glared at the demon sticks—she'd had enough. Taking in the deepest breath she could muster, the tween puffed repeatedly at them in a heated motion.

At the end of her tirade she collapsed back into her chair and sighed, all but one had been defeated—though the others seemed ready for round two. She heard her father snicker and gave him a questioning glance; something told her that he probably had something to do with it.

"Trick candles," Ray explained as they watched the objects being taken off the cake one by one and dipped into a cup full of water.

"Papa!" An embarrassed flush creeping on her pale cheeks, she'd probably looked like an idiot in front of everyone—and worse, he had pictures.

"What?" his grin widened and he held up his free hand in defense, as if he did nothing wrong.

"Relax dear, you looked adorable." Mrs. Greybull—Ray's mother—cooed, rubbing the girl's shoulders. She relaxed a little under the familiar touch, but still gave her father a childish glare.

The mechanic held out a slice of birthday cake as a peace offering and Alex stared at it, half expecting the thing to blow up in her face.

The greedy teen next to her took this moment of hesitation as an opportunity and stuck his greedy fork into the delicious desert, taking a big chunk out of it. Chopping down Ray smiled at her outraged face, "It's Safe." He confirmed in between chewing and received a hard punch to the shoulder.

"Jerk." She mumbled shoving a fork full into her mouth before he decided to come back for seconds. Her anger diminishing as a yummy chocolate flavor seeped onto her tongue. She turning to face Ray's mother she gave a chocolaty grin, "Mrs. Greybull this cake is really good. Thank you." The woman always made the best cakes.

"You're welcome dear."

"Mn-hm." Mr. Adams nodded in agreement. "You've gotta teach me how to make this Anna."

The older woman chuckled, "No offense Arthur, but I don't think _anyone_ can teach you to cook."

"Uh-uh." His daughter shook her head, cringing at the memory at his last attempt.

"Lost cause." Ray added, forking in another piece of Alex's cake when she wasn't looking.

"I resent that." Arthur glared pointing the fork at his apprentice.

"But Alex on the other hand… she could possibly be saved." Mrs. Greybull added raising her eyebrow at the girl, "What do you say, Love? Shall I teach you?"

"Uh… Sure. I guess that'd be cool." She nodded, not really wanting to say no to the woman. Plus she guessed she'd need to learn from _someone_ since her father couldn't cook for his life.

"Maybe you should give her lady lessons too. Then she won't act like such a dude." Ray added, earning him another punch to the shoulder.

"Shut it."

"Make me, Beansprout."

"Ok, ok, ok." Mr. Adams interjected before Alex's fist connected the third time, "Finish your cake so we can open presents."

At the mention of presents Alexandra's eyes flashed over to the pile of colorfully wrapped objects and sparkled with enthusiasm. In her opinion, the best part of birthday parties were always the present openings.

Bringing her attention back to her cake, she doubled her eating speed—she didn't want to waste any more time. The wonder was killing her.

"Woah there, slow down a bit. They aren't going anywhere."

"Can't be helped, you've already gone and got her all excited." Mrs. Greybull hummed shaking her head.

Arthur sighed, "She's just like her mother…"

"Mn-hm, rest her soul."

"Done!" Alex shouted placing her plate down on the table, swallowing the last of her dessert. "Present time!"

"Alright there, Road Runner, sit still. I'm taking Daddy privileges and making you open mine first." Mr. Adams declared, earning him eyes rolls from around the room—impatientcy obviously ran on _both_ sides of the family. Pulling out a small orange gift bag from the pile he presented it to her.

Alexandra carefully took the gift, despite her excitement, and removed the decorative tissue piece by piece—you know, to build dramatic affect. Her eyes soon lit up at the sight of her present, black racing goggles with green tinted lens. She had hinted to her Dad for weeks about them, but she never thought he would remember. The guy had terrible memory sometimes.

Without hesitation she strapped them onto her head, "Sweet! Thank you, Papa!"

"There's a card in there too with a little spending money, since the gifts kinda small…" he scratched his head in slight embarrassment.

Alex shook her head in disagreement, "Mn-mn. You didn't have to do that, this is awesome. I'll wear it always."

"Always is a long time."

"I know."

* * *

><p><em>Fourteen<em>.

"Hey, Ray?"

"Hm?"

Alexandra and Richard sat back to back, glancing up at the stars. It was a trend they started a few years back, but they hadn't gotten the chance to do it as much after Randell started college—and now the young man was days from starting at his new job. It kind of made her feel as if she was getting left behind.

"What's that on called?" Alex asked pointing to a cluster of stars.

"Orion's belt."

"Who's that?"

"He's a hero from Greek mythology."

"Aha. I see." She mustered before letting out a tired yawn.

Ray glanced at his watch, "Mn. It's getting late. You should head inside."

Alex shook her head, "No way. I rarely see you as it is, I can last a few more minutes."

"Didn't realize you missed me that much." He grinned.

"Don't get a big head, it was just boring not seeing that ugly mug of yours around anymore."

"Oh? That's it?" He sighed in mock disappointment, "And I thought you cared."

She elbowed him in the back, "Stupid." Relaxing she nestled into his back, "Of course I care." She cared more than even she herself realized, Ray had become more than just an older brother figure.

* * *

><p><em>Sixteen<em>.

"Ready? Go!"

As soon as her father gave the command Alex punched the throttle and the car thrust forward. With focused eyes and amateur hands she weaved through the designated orange cones. Her father's 1975 Lincoln Continental IV shaking lightly over the rocky ground of the old quarry.

"Cutting it a little close there, Alex. Don't turn so late!" she heard the mechanic call from his safe spot on a large boulder.

For a while now, the two often found themselves in this situation. Ever since Alex got her permit, Mr. Adams decided it would be best if he taught her how to _really_ drive—not that crap they teach down at those boring driving classes… it was a waste of money in his mind.

Despite what many believed, he wasn't just a mechanic. Back before Alex was born he was the right hand to a man who spent his time as an adviser for racers. So, he didn't just know how to fix cars, he knew who to drive them too.

"Watch your rear!"

"I know, I know." Alex muttered under her breath tightening her grip on the wheel as the car's back tire narrowly missed knocking over a cone.

"Good, Good. Now do it in reverse."

Alex followed the order and rested her arm around her head rest. Glancing back, she drove backward—clenching her teeth as she hit the cone this time.

"Almost got it, Alex!" a new voice called over the hum of the motor.

The familiar tone caused her to stop the car in surprise and pop her head out the window, a large grin on her face. "Ray?" her eyes stayed glued to the newcomer, casually leaning next to her father, as she sprinted out of the car to greet him. "What are you doing here?"

"What? Can I not come visit my friend, just because?"

"No. Not when you're not going to call for days on end." She teased slugging him in the arm.

"So, How's it goin' with the fiancée?" Mr. Adams asked, casually sliding off the boulder to join the conversation. Both men missing the frown that formed on Alex's face—not that she was jealous… or anything.

"Good." Randell replied rubbing his poor bruised appendage.

"You've gotta bring her over, me and Papa want to meet her." The teen lied, he father nodding in agreement.

"Actually that's why I'm here. We're going to have an engagement party soon. I came to give you, your invite in person. She wants all our friends and family to be there." He explained, holding out a fancy looking envelope to Arthur.

"Her idea?" the mechanic asked glancing over the piece of parchment.

"Yeah." He sighed, scratching the back of his head.

"Women." The older men exhaled shaking his head.

"Women…" Ray nodded in agreement.

"Ahem." Alex raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. The two males chuckled.

xXx

"Tell me again why I have to wear this?" Alex asked tugging awkwardly on the orange form-fitting dress invading her personal space.

"Because. This is a formal affair." Mr. Adams answered smartly, "Anyway, stop complaining. I let you wear those goggles, didn't I?" Despite his words he fiddled with his tie in discomfort.

The Adams were never really into formal events, but this was special. "Alright, enough Dawdling." Her father told her dusting off his pants. "Ready?" he held out an arm for his daughter.

"As ready as I'll ever be." She mumbled, returning his grin.

The duo headed out of the lobby and into a small dining area. The place wasn't too flashy, but it looked nice. There were flower arrangements on each table and the room was filled with an off white—pearl, maybe?—color on various materials like table runners and seat covers. The guests themselves looked rather dapper; Alex even caught sight of Mrs. Greybull showing off a flattering red gown. It was probably one of the most fanciest parties she'd been invited to—not that she's gone to many in the first place.

"Seems like they went all out." She commented giving her father's arm a squeeze.

"Well, Anna and Mark were always the 'dotting parent' types." He explained, eyeing the buffet table.

"Mr. A! Beansprout!" the familiar voice of Randell called as the young man strolled up to the two, sporting an unbuttoned blazer and a tie-less green dress shirt. "You clean up good."

He wasn't lying either, Mr. Adams' slicked back hair and loosed up tie caught the eyes of many prowling females in the room. And, he had even given himself a clean shave that made him look pretty damn good—much to his daughter's surprise. Alexandra on the other hand looked beautiful, her orange dress flattered her collarbone and the updo that held her hair out of her face showed off her prominent cheek bones. The only thing that was out of place were the black goggles with the green-tinted lenses resting on her collar bones—but then again, this was Alex. She wouldn't be _her_ without them.

"You don't look so bad yourself." The teen complimented putting her hands on her hips.

"So where's your beautiful fiancée?" Arthur questioned, running a hand through his hair.

"Uh…" Ray took a moment to look behind him and pointed to a brunette in a short white dress chatting expressively to an old couple, "Right over there speaking with my grandparents." They caught each other's eye and she excused herself from her conversation before trotting over to the trio with a friendly smile.

Alex hugged herself protectively. It was easy to see why Randell liked the girl so much. She was pretty—as begrudging as it was—and seemed sophisticated.

"Hey~" the new addition to the group sang, snaking her arm around Ray's waist. Her hazel eyes glanced at her fiancé before bringing her attention to the two blondes. "I'm Carla." She placed a hand on her chest and glanced upward, batting her lashes.

"This is Mr. Adams and Bean—I mean, Alex." Her love introduced and Carla shook each hand respectively.

The woman's smile widened at the mention of their names, "Oh my god! Ray has told me so much about you! He thinks really highly of you, you know Mr. Adams?" she told the mechanic a-matter-of-factly. "And _Alex_. He's spoken so much about you that I feel as though I know you already."

"You… don't have to tell them all that…" Ray mumbled, scratching his cheek in bashfully.

"Oh~ no need to be shy you big teddy bear." She cooed rubbing his stomach.

Alex twitched slightly at the bubbly aura seeping from the woman. She was so… _feminine_.

"We've heard quiet a lot about you too. We're so glad we're finally getting a chance to meet Ray's number one gal." Mr. Adams grinned. Alex mentally rolled her eyes.

"Randell!" a voice called from the other side of the room.

"Ah—Mother's calling. I'll be right back." He and Carla exchanged a light kiss before her went sprinting off.

"Well…" Mr. Adams trailed off rocking back on his heel. "I think I'm gonna go check out the buffet.. want anything?"

"Nah." Alex shook her head.

He turned to Carla, "You?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you." She assured him, holding up a hand.

"Alright then." The mechanic said, leaving a little _too_ quickly to stuff his face.

An awkward silence washed over the two females, and Alex instantly regretted not making a break for the food like her father.

"So…." Carla rubbed her arm, "I hear you're into cars."

"Yeah."

"Got a favorite?"

Alex gave her a curious glance, what did she know about cars? She didn't seem like the type. Deciding to test her knowledge out she picked an overlooked model, "1969 Plymouth Barracuda 440."

"Oh-ho. Nice a pony car."

Now Alex was amused, "What do you know about pony cars?"

Carla grinned, "What? They're cars like, the Thunderbird, Falcon, and Dart GT. Right?" She asked, playing coy.

"Most girls can't name off car brands like that."

"Well, I'm not most girls." She grinned playfully.

"The blond raised an eyebrow, "Car, lover?"

"Mhm."

"Aha." Ok, so maybe she wasn't _so_ bad.

* * *

><p><em>Seventeen<em>.

Fridays were the days that Randell Greybull found himself back at the ol' car garage hanging out with the tools and the people of his past, but this Friday was a little different. He and his former boss were not slaving over a beat up lemon today—instead the two were sporting rather solemn looks, engaging in what seemed like a very important discussion.

"You sure Mr. A?"

"Yeah…"

"Does Alex know?"

"No."

"Well, don't you think you should tell her?"

"She'd just worry."

"She has a right to know."

"Ray, you know how she gets. I don't want to see her upset."

He sighed, "I understand."

"Can I ask you a favor?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"If anything happens you'll look after her for me, won't you?"

"Don't talk like that."

"Please?"

"…Alright."

The two stopped their conversation short as said girl busted through the door, a grin carved in her features, her long blond hair trailing behind her. She paused at the tense atmosphere, "Hmm~ Someone's puppy die or something?" she joked, tossing her school bag down on a nearby table.

"Ah—it's nothing." Mr. Adams said, forcing a smile. "Just couldn't find what the problem is with Henry's ford. It won't start up." He covered smoothly.

"Eh? Really?" she frowned a bit, something seemed off. "Let me take a look at it."

"Oh? You some kind of expert now?" Ray commented as she skipped over to glance under the hood.

"Nope, but I'm the daughter of one." She retorted, earning herself a pat on the head.

* * *

><p><em>Eighteen<em>.

Golden eyes scanned the corridor for the correct room number.

_802. 803. 80-_

Alex jumped at the sound of a cry in pain and quickened her pace. _805_. She hated hospitals, the only thing that came to mind when her heard the word was death. _806_. The place was always so clean and plain and boring—and many people died in it. _807_. In her opinion the worst place to die was in a hospital. _808_. Who wanted their last memory to be of clear, boring, white walls?

_809_. _810_. _811_.

Coming to a halt at room 812, Alexandra frowned. A slightly unsettling feeling wriggled around in her belly as her eyes re-read the name, 'Arthur Adams', printed neatly on the name plate. Her slender fingers grazed the door handle, her hand pausing just before it grabbed the metal object.

'_Why are you hesitating stupid!'_ she reprimanded herself furrowing her eyebrows in frustration. She knew the answer to that though. She was scared. What would she see if she opened that door? What would she be told?

The fear had eaten at her ever since Ray came to pick her up at school. His look was so serious it had startled her. There weren't many times she'd seen him like that. Though the news of her father collapsing in the garage frightened her even more, she hadn't known what to think. Alex tried to see if Randell knew anything, but he found a way around her questions and she confronted him on his elusiveness he told her that it wasn't something for him to say—she didn't push any further.

Biting her lip, the teen let her fingers wrap around the cold metal. Ray was probably sitting quietly in the waiting room where she left him. He rushed her to the hospital and made her wait off to the side while he spoke to the doctor, when the time came that her father could accept visitors Randell made her go by herself, hence her current situation.

Taking a deep breath she tapped her goggles lightly with her free hand and pushed open the door. Stepping inside the room she let out a meek, "Papa?"

Mr. Adams didn't reply, but weakly waved her over from his spot on the bed.

Alexandra's frown only deepened.

He looked horrible, it was like he had aged a million years overnight—an exaggeration, of course. His skin was pale and his glazed over eyes seemed to have a hint of an irritated red color.

The man lying on the bed felt foreign to her, he didn't look like the lovely father who would ruffle her hair when she did something clever or sneak a smoke in the kitchen when he thought she didn't know.

Her eyes watered up as she slowly made her way over to his side, "Papa what's doing on? No one will tell me anything. Are you ok?"

The man placed a fragile hand on his daughter's forearm, "…Alex." He struggled, his voice cracking and horse from underuse. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner…" he cleared his throat and took a shaky breath.

Alex opened her mouth to speak, but he head up a hand seeming to struggle a great deal with his words, but finally let himself say it—and at the same time he came to terms with it himself. "I'm dying."

* * *

><p><em>Nineteen<em>.

The funeral came and went, but it still stayed fresh in Alex's mind. Every word spoken, every pitied look, she remembered it all.

It had been just a small event, just a few of the people her father was close to came. It was a simple ceremony, fitting of her father's lifestyle. The man had never lived extravagantly, and the funeral reflected that. Even though his car garage received relatively good business he rented a small apartment instead of buying a house and his clothes were almost always t-shirts and jeans. He wasn't the type of guy that liked to flaunt his money, his daughter and garage were all he really needed and Alex had always secretly admired him for that.

Sighing for what seemed like the millionth time since her father's untimely death, the young woman placed a hand on the tombstone of her beloved Arthur Adams. It felt so unreal. Part of her still believed that if she came running toward the garage she'd find him there working on Mr. Wilson's ol' jalopy for the third time that year, greeting her with his goofy looking grin. She loved that grin. She used to say that it had magic powers because it seemed to wash away all outside troubles.

However, the funny thing about believing was that it didn't always come true. And the rough tombstone brought her back to that harsh reality and it was at that moment that she ran her fingers over the concrete that she realized that this was all _real_.

There would be no more staying up late drinking hot chocolate as they watched James Bond movies, no more playing ball down at the rundown baseball field across the street, no more victory pizza parties after a late night of fixing up the vehicles of regulars… and even if she were to do any of these now, it wouldn't be the same.

Sad eyes glanced in the direction of the much older tombstone beside that of her father's. It's engravings—worn from nineteen years of battling the elements—still distinctively read the name of a woman she knew only through what others told her. 'Alexandra Adams', the stone read. It was the name of her mother as much as it was her own. In her father's moment of grief it was the only name that could come to his mind.

Alex had always made sure to carry it well. Arthur had loved her mother to the end. The mechanic never once remarried as one often did years after the death of a spouse, nor had he ever hidden his wedding ring away—deciding instead to wear it proudly on his finger, a testament to the memory of his loved one.

"Take care of him," she found herself whispering to the silent grave.

Alexandra was not sure whether or not she believed in life after death, but if such a place existed then she hoped her words were carried to the ears of that woman and that both she and her father could be happy with each other, like in the pictures she'd seen of them together. He deserved to be happy after all.

"So this is where you were." A deep voice stated from behind, snapping her out of her trance.

Turning her head slightly, she gave a small smile to the visitor and stood up from her crouched position. "Aren't you supposed to be at work or something?"

"It's 3pm…. on a Sunday, Alex."

"Ah` so I've been here for that long?" she scratched her head and gave a half-hearted chuckle, "Lost track of time, I guess."

"Don't you always?" her childhood friend asked playfully raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, guess I do." She nodded, glancing at the sky.

Ray followed her gaze silently.

After a long pause he shoved his hands in his pockets, "So what are you going to do now?"

She shrugged, "I don't know."


	3. Story 1, Part 2 : New Faces and Traitors

**Story 1 — Alexandra Adams**

Part 2

_Twenty_.

"Hey." The nonchalant voice of a woman caught Alex's attention.

Glancing up from the work bench she wiped her greasy hands with an old rag, "Yeah?"

"I asked around and people told me to come here. Ya see, I'm having trouble with my ride. I can't go much farther with a giant smoke cloud shooting out the exhaust pipe." The woman explained, removing her sunglasses to reveal stormy grey eyes. There was a calm and stubborn air to her which would have given her a dominate businesswoman feel had she not been dressed down in the latest clothing off of the hoochie clothes line.

"This place isn't in business anymore." The blond said simply tossing the rag back on the bench.

"So I heard." The stranger dismissed, taking an unwelcomed stroll around the garage.

"If you heard then why are you here?" she questioned adding a quick, "Don't touch that." As the woman's hand brushed the cover protecting some sort of vehicle underneath.

She retracted her fingers and pursed her lips, "I also heard you fix cars from time to time. Apparently you're pretty good at it." She disclosed swinging her glasses carelessly around her finger.

"I don't feel like playing mechanic today."

"I can pay you pretty well." To Alex's surprise the woman flashed a wad of cash.

The blond snerked, "And where exactly do you come off flashing money like that? If you're not careful you'll be an easy target for robbery."

The lipsticked female smirked, "There's no need to worry about that. I'm a big girl, I can handle myself." She ran her free hand though her short burgundy locks, "So will you help me out?"

Alex turned in her stool and crossed her legs, "Sorry but I don't take dirty money."

"I wouldn't call it dirty. I have a job. I was paid just the way everybody else is."

"Oh really? And just what job might that be?"

"I suppose you could call me a spare hand." She shrugged eyes staring at the covered car before giving Alex a once over. A slender finger pointed to the goggles resting around the girl's neck, "You race by any chance?"

The amateur mechanic raised her eyebrow, "Not necessarily. I practice. How—"

"You don't seem like the type to _just_ fix cars. You look like you have an itch that needs scratching," she cut off.

"Heh."

The woman strolled closer, "Tell you what. Fix my car and I'll race you. If I win the fix is free of charge, beat me and I'll pay you—you look like you need the money."

Alex though it over, "…Sounds interesting."

"We got ourselves a deal?" she held out her hand.

"Fine." She took the appendage and shook it.

"I'm Donna by the way."

"Alex."

xXx

Alexandra sighed in exhaustion.

Two weeks had passed since she had beaten Donna in a race around the old quarry and every few days she received visits from the minimally dressed woman, who would proceed to stand over her shoulder or prod around the shop while she worked on fixing the woman's car… multiple times—apparently not only was she a horrible driver, but she was horrible at taking care of her car too. It felt as if she was being evaluated for something each time the spare hand came and honestly it was a bit irritating.

Her train of thought was ruined as said woman stormed through the old building with a crooked grin on her face. "I've decided."

Turning away from the hood of her car she frowned at her current pest as the grey-eyed bunny plopped down on a stool. Alex didn't have to know Donna though long to cringe when she held that kind of expression on her face. "Decided what exactly?"

"We should partner up, duh." She explained as if the answer was as plain as day.

"Me and you… partner up." Alex couldn't help but snort. "We've only known each other for like—what—a few weeks?"

"Yeah? And?" Donna pulled on the edges of her skirt, "Look. As fun as this whole playing mechanic thing might be for you, I think you have some pretty good potential. You shouldn't let it go to waste."

"No thanks."

"Aw, come on. What are you going to do? Sleep in the old storage room and fix cars all day? I've seen the cot so don't tell me you don't." The woman leaned forward, "With your help we can really roll in the dough. And you know, money equals better car parts and we both know how much you wanna upgrade that fine piece of metal you have sitting over there." Donna grinned jamming her thumb behind her to the mystery vehicle until the tarp. "With your driving and my business skills, nimble footing, and charm we'd be awesome."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Awesome." Alex nodded unconvinced.

"Just think about it."

She sighed, "Aright, I'll think about it."

* * *

><p><em>Twenty-one<em>.

Alex closed the trunk and stepped around to face her newly modified Ferrari F430. Seeing the finished product ignited a sense of pride in her belly. She smiled. This was probably how her father felt whenever he fixed up a car on his own. It was a completely different feeling when you know you did all the work yourself.

"Alex!" Donna came bouncing into the shop, her ballerina-like skirt flaring, and mischievous grin in full swing.

The blond shook her head and—despite being amused—sighed, "That look can only mean one thing…"

"We got us another job~" The older woman sang, confirming Alex's suspicions.

"Who needs us this time?"

"Jimmy. Frank's thugs took something valuable from him and he wants it back."

Alex noticed the vague details but didn't push for any specifics, the least she knew the better probably. Leaning against the hood of her baby, she gave the woman her full attention, "He and Frank still on bad terms?"

"Of course." Her partner smiled, "Now. Jimmy wants this to be done quietly. Getting past Frank's security shouldn't be too hard—I've been in rougher spots, but the getaway is going to be tough. The guy is quick at noticing when something's amiss. So, what I need you to do is—"

"Be on standby, as usual." The driver cut in, blowing a stray hair out of her face.

"Precisely."

"When does he want it done?"

"Tonight."

She grunted, "Of course he does..."

xXx

Alex's Ferrari slowly pulled up the alley, the Calzone estate in full view as it slid to a quiet stop.

Leaning her elbow on the driver's side door the blond took a glance at her passenger, "Don't get killed."

"Never." Donna grinned, sliding on a black beanie and leaving the vehicle.

She watched as her friend disappeared stealthily over the stone wall and sighed running a hand though her hair.

Not in a million years did she think she'd be doing _jobs_ like this. She reflected on it many times but she never really could pin point _why_.

Honestly she really didn't know. Maybe it was for the thrill. Alex didn't really have a goal for the future, cars were the only thing that seemed to keep her interest. College wasn't even something she considered, though she probably could if she wanted. Ray had even tried to convince her a few times—who speaking of which was someone who she barely saw anymore. Last time they met he was going to be a daddy. But back to the topic, in her mind this was the only way to both make a living and satisfy her 'itch' as Donna had so correctly put it. The pay was good too, so she was able to do the things she wanted with her car—after subtracting living expenses of her new apartment.

Sure she was breaking a few laws, and it was a dangerous job but what fun would it be otherwise? Alex had always had a rebellious streak in her, meeting Donna had just brought it out into the light.

Alex snapped out of her stupor when the back door swung open and a little pigtailed girl scooted into the car. The door quickly closed and Donna jumped into the passenger seat soon after.

"The stolen thing… was Jimmy's kid?"

"Niece." She quickly corrected matter-of-factly.

"Ah." Was the only reply Alex mustered before starting the engine just as the estate burst into a frenzy of orders after realizing their little 'guest' was missing. Questions would have to wait. Going full throttle, the cocky blond speed passed the front gate just as the four black SUV's exited behind her. Two split off heading down separate streets while the others tried to keep up with her.

Gold eyes locked on the small child through the rearview mirror, "Kid." She caught her attention, "Get down and buckle up."

Just as the young one did as she was told, the first few rounds of an automatic fired, ricocheting off on the car's exterior, a bullet putting a nice crack in the thick glass of her back window. Their new passenger screamed and Alex frowned, so much for all her hard work... and her eardrums.

"Tch. They don't waste much time do they?" Donna grumbled whipping out a .357 Magnum from the concealed holster at her thigh. Rolling down the window she stuck her face out and sent a few bullets their way before retreating back into the car.

One of the clunkers that split off before reappeared from around a corner and pulled up beside her, matching her speed. Every time she sped up the ass matched her again. Deeping her frown Alex watched as the he prepared to ram her. Getting her timing right, she spun around and out the way letting the annoyance screech into a parked car.

Blocking out the ongoing cross fire between Donna and the thugs, she clutched the wheel and quickly floored it, heading down the street the wrong way as she narrowly avoided her two other tailers and swerved down a narrow avenue, just as a stray bullet punctured the back tired. They swerved and her arm slamming against the side door. "Motherf—"

"Kid in the car." The trigger happy woman to her right reprimanded.

"Says the woman flaunting the gun."

"Touché."

Turning off onto a more crowded scene, she weaved through the light traffic, ignoring the honking and occasional profanity as she tried to lose her followers. Veering down another street, she huffed at the bright headlights waiting down the other end of the one lane street. Spotting the other cars roll up to her only other exit she slows to a stop.

Donna glanced over at her partner, "Looks like Frank's gotten better drivers than the last time we had to deal with him…"

Alex smirked, "Better, but still not good enough." The way she saw it there was only one way to get out of this, setting a challenge she revved her engine. The SUV copied soon after and the motion went back and forth as they sized each other up.

The lady in shotgun gave a knowing look, "You're not thinking of playing chicken again… are you?"

Alex replied with a smile as she punched the gas, the car's tires spun rapidly in place before pushing forward. The SUV complied and advanced milliseconds after.

Donna tensed and the young girl in the back whimpered covering her eyes as the two vehicles went barreling for each other. At the last moment possible she veered off the road and down the sidewalk, ramming into a newspaper dispenser.

Listening to the car pileup she ungracefully placed the car back on the road.

Donna let out a held in breath, "You're going to kill us one day."

"Have a little faith." Alex chuckled and eased into another alley as the sound of obnoxious sirens sped down the road.

When the streets were clear she cut through a parking lot and bee lined it for the train tracks—which happened to be the territory divider.

Re-holstering her gun the eldest relaxed, "We should be good now, Frank knows better than to send his boys into enemy territory without a plan."

"Mn." The blond glanced back at their small passenger still curled up in a ball. "Hey kid, it's safe now."

The small girl slowly sat up with a lour, "My name's not kid, it's Amelia." She looked her over, "I know Donna… but who are you?"

"Alex."

"Best wheelman on this side of Cali." Donna added with pride.

"What's with the smartass tough act?" Alex questioned scanning the girl's features.

"It's not an act. I am tough. Uncle says strong women don't get scared. I've gotta be strong."

"Sure they do."

"Donna doesn't." Amelia countered.

"`Course she does."

"Feh. No I don't." Said female scoffed crossing her arms.

"Liar." Alex shook her head before turning her attention back to Amelia. "If you aren't scared, why are you shaking?"

"H-Huh?" It seemed the young girl hadn't realized it herself as she glanced quizzically at her trembling hands. It was understandable though, she was just a kid and all.

"Donna, open the glove compartment."

Lazily doing as she was told the woman raised an eyebrow, "Hmmmm ~ What are you doing caring around lollipops?"

"Calms the nerves."

"Aha." She realized catching on and handed one to Amelia, who stared at it as if it were some contaminated specimen. "Eat it." Donna reassured with a smile.

"…Thank you." With that the rest of the ride was silent, surprisingly even Donna didn't speak.

Five minutes later they found themselves pulling into a what looked like an abandoned warehouse. Stopping in front of five rather nice cars lined up in a semi-circle, a group of men were spotted scattered around old tables. All eyes glued on them as the three stepped out of the car.

"Amelia." A pleased breath called, filling the room as a tall, dapper, boss-like brunette stepped out, his arms opened wide.

"Uncle!" The youngling raced to Jimmy, rapping her arms around his ankles.

The man knelt and wrapped her into a long embrace before whispering in her ear. Amelia ran over to play with a tough looking male in a corner and Jimmy's attention was brought to Donna as she advanced toward him—her partner staying back, as the business part wasn't what she liked dealing with. The two adults exchanged kisses on the cheek.

"Thank you, Donna." He glanced over to Alexandra, who nodded, "And Ms. Alex too of course."

"You're welcome, Jim." Donna slid an arm around his shoulders, "Though I'm sure you know how you can _really_ show us your thanks." She cooed, leading his away to discuss payment—and probably flirt, Alex had always wondered about that relationship of theirs.

Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back and rest on the car window, a hand rubbing her bruised shoulder.

"Looks like they messed up your car pretty bad… it's a good model though." A deep unfamiliar voice commented.

Alex opened one of her eyes and took in the stranger. The guy was obviously new. She hadn't seen him around before. His shaggy bleached hair stood out from the neatly trimmed haircuts of jimmy's usual boys. "Not as messed up as I left their pieces of junk…"

He grinned—kind of like someone she knew, she noticed. "I heard a lot about you Ms. Alex. The guys here gossip more than you'd think."

"Wish I could say the same about you, newbie."

"Damien Mercer." He introduced himself holding about his hand.

She shook it, "So what are you doing working for Jimmy."

He shrugged, "Trying to survive just like everybody else."

"Mn."

"How 'bout you?"

Alex crossed her arms, "What about me, I wonder."

"What brought you to the wheelman business."

"Donna."

"Aha." He nodded. The name explained it all. Everyone knew Donna could be pretty… persuasive.

A comfortable silence rested in between the two as they glanced around at the occupants of the warehouse. Everyone seemed pretty absorbed in their own thing, Damien turned to the woman next to him, "Wanna go for a walk?"

She raised an eyebrow, "They'll notice we're missing."

"We won't take long."

She gave him a skeptical look.

"Come on, I don't bite." He joked, grapping her hand and leading her out the warehouse.

* * *

><p><em>Twenty-two<em>.

"What?" Though her eyes were closed, Alex could feel Damien's eyes on her as the stroking of her hair continued.

"Nothing, just thinking…" she heard him reply.

"What about?" Opening her eyes she turned her head slightly to look at him.

He smiled, "I told you. It's nothing."

Alexander gave a disbelieving look, but didn't question any further. Turning back over, her eyes strayed to the clock and she frowned, "Don't you need to leave soon?"

She attempted to sit up fully but Damien held her down gently, "I've got time."

Alex rolled her eyes but simpered, "No you don't. If your late Jimmy'll get angry, he likes him men punctual." The guy may have been a good leader, but he wasn't a push over.

"Jimmy can wait."

"Yeah. _Right_." She elbowed him playfully and successfully sat up this time. "Get dressed."

With a protesting grunt, her bedmate reluctantly got up grabbing the first pair of pants he could find. "So what are you going to do while I'm gone?"

"If Donna doesn't have anything planned then I'll probably be at the garage, like usual." She stated a bit unenthusiastically.

"Mn." He stared at her as he buttoned his shirt.

"What?"

"Nothing." He grinned leaning forward to give her a light peck on the lips, "Don't miss me too much."

Alex smirked, "Isn't it _you_ who'll miss _me_."

He kissed her again and gave a jocular, "Maybe."

She laughed and gave him a smooch of her own before he left with a, "Remember to lock the door this time."

Pleased eyes watched as the door shut with a click before the blond flopped backward onto the comfy mattress. Exhaling, Alex glanced around the room. It still felt a little odd waking up in Damien's apartment. Months they'd been going out, but she'd only slept over a hand full of times. Despite her boyfriend's constant prodding sleepovers were never really her thing.

Rolling over onto her stomach she pressed her face into the closest pillow and took a relaxing breath. She was tired. Juggling the ever so demanding Donna and quality time with Damien wasn't as easy as it looked. Though she couldn't complain, they kept her life interesting and she cared for them more than she even realized herself. Neither could replace her father's memory, but she didn't feel as lonely as before. Curling up under the covers she decided to take advantage of her time and have a quick nap—the bed was much softer than she remembered.

Snuggling into warm comforter, she slowly began drifting off. However, before she could completely fall into a slumber she was interrupted by the obnoxious ringing of her cellphone. Groaning she sat up and flipped the device open, clearing her throat. "This is Alex."

"Hey. Damien did leave yet?" The casual voice of Donna questioned.

"Yeah. Just now." Scratching her head she crisscrossed her legs, "Why?"

"Aha, I see. Just missed him…" There was a pause, "Well, I guess it doesn't matter. Alex, hurry up and head down to the warehouse."

"What for?"

"Jimmy needs a favor." The female stated simply.

"What kind?"

She hummed, "I wonder."

Alex sighed, knowing she wasn't going to get anything else out of her partner. "Alright, I'm coming."

"See yeah there."

xXx

Stepping out of her Ferrari, Alex frowned at the serious atmosphere plaguing her surrounds. The emptiness of the warehouse itself was off-putting—it was never this empty. For Jimmy to call his boys away meant that this was probably something serious, though just the fact that the man was asking for a favor gave that away.

Just as the blond caught sight of the only occupied table in the building, Jimmy stood up from his seat next to Donna and waved her over. The only other occupant at the table, she noticed, was Damien. As she neared the table he gave her a light smile, obviously just as clueless as she was about the matter. After giving a questionable glance at Donna she turned her gaze on Jimmy.

"So what's this all about?" she asked flopping carelessly into the old chair next to her boyfriend.

Jimmy gently sat himself back down and laced his hands together, leaning forward. "We've got problems."

"What kind?" she heard Damien questions from her right.

"We have… a possible rat problem."

"So were talking traitors?" Alex's eyebrows knitted together. That would explain why the hideout was so empty. Everyone would be on edge if they heard this, knowing Jimmy he probably didn't want any unnecessary tension.

He nodded, "Exactly . I've been looking into how Frank could have possibly gotten his hands on Amelia. As you know, I have my enemies so I'm not the type of person who just lets his niece walk around unguarded."

"So you think it was an inside job?"

Jimmy nodded.

Alex leaned back, "So, I've been meaning to ask, what's the whole deal with the kid? Frank isn't the merciful type, but when me and Donna picked her up she was in pretty good condition."

Donna decided to take up this explanation, "Well you know about how the Patella family used to be one big organization, right?"

"Yeah, I remember being told something like that…"

"When the head died he left the position to both Jimmy and Frank. They never really liked each other and their personalities clashed constantly. The only reason the organization hadn't split sooner was that Jimmy's sister and Frank's brother where married with a baby. They both had a soft spot for their siblings, so they tried not to put them in a tough situation."

"Amelia's parents died in a car 'accident' years back and she was put into Jimmy's hands per their request. Frank was pissed and left the organization taking half the family and the west territory with him." Damien cut in, ignoring Donna's pouty expression for stealing her thunder.

Jimmy sighed, "Frank was never one to share. He wants Amelia and my territory for himself."

"So what does all of this have to do with us?"

"Frank's been inactive for a while, we think he's up to something. With possible traitors within the family it'll be too dangerous for Amelia to stay here… I need people I can trust to look after her. A few months tops." He explained.

"So you need a babysitter?" Alex leaned on her hand, "You do realize that isn't in my job description."

"That's why I'm not asking a wheelman, I'm asking a friend. Donna recommended you and I trust you both."

Upon hearing it was her idea, Alex cast Donna a glare. The woman grinned, "Come on babe, do it for the kid."

"I don't mind." Damien decided stretching his arms behind his head. He smiled at his girlfriend's raised eyebrow, "It'd be like watching my younger sister all over again."

"So?"

She felt the pressure as all eyes fell on her. Letting out an exasperated sigh she waved her hand lazily, "You'll owe me one."

xXx

Ten minutes. _TEN MINUTES_, they had been in the shop and Alex had already heard the girl sigh in boredom at least one hundred times. Was watching someone fix a car _really_ that boring? When she had been the girl's age she'd loved watching her father and Ray work.

"Is that what you do all day?" A small voice called to the blond laying under a half-finished BMW.

"…Sometimes."

"I don't get it."

Alex's hand paused mid turn, "Get what?"

"You're a girl. Why do you like cars?"

Sliding out from under the vehicle, she stared out the mini person, "Since when couldn't a girl like cars?"

Amelia shrugged, "Isn't it weird?"

"No." The driver answered simply helping herself into a standing position. "What makes you think that?"

"Well. At school, I wanted to play soccer, but the boys said that it was weird for a girl to play boy games…" she explained with a frown, playing with the hem of her skirt.

"Well, Boys are stupid. A girl can play anything a boy can."

"….Damien is a boy."

"Exactly."

The child giggled.

Alex gave her a light smile, "Don't tell him I said that." Walking over, she reached behind Amelia for a rag and wiping her hands she glance at the girl, "Still bored?"

"I little, I guess…"

The woman nodded, thinking to herself for a moment before turning her attention back to her guest, "Let's watch a movie or something. I'll tell Damien to order pizza on his way home, kay?"

Amelia gave a wide grin, "Ok!"

* * *

><p><em>Twenty-Three<em>.

"Alright, next one. Would you rather… Live for a day and not have to work for anything you wanted or live for a lifetime working for the things you wanted?" Alex asked the group in front of her.

"I say live for a day." Donna leaned by and rested her feet on the table. "Sitting in the lap of luxury is my dream."

"What a Donna-like response," Damien chuckled resting his chin on his knuckles.

Amelia scrunched her nose in protest, "But isn't that kinda sad? If that was me I'd probably spend the whole day worrying about all my friends, 'cuz I think they'd be sad if I died. And, I think me and uncle would miss you if you were gone Donna." She pointed out with a yawn.

The small minor's comment made the adults around the table smile. She was very smart for an eight year old.

"Oh, would you look at the time…" The only man at the table hummed tapping his wrist watch before standing up, "Time for bed little one."

"But—"

"Shall I call Uncle?"

Alex and Donna watched with amusement as she went wide-eyed and scurried out the living/dining room. A chuckling Damien in tow.

"Well looks like she's doing well." The elder woman scratched her head, "That's good. Jimmy keeps getting worried about her…" she mumbled taking a sip of who-knows-what out of her water bottle.

"Yeah. She's been good." Alex admitted a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"And you seem happier too." Donna pointed out with a hum and a knowing glance.

Blond eyebrows furrowed, "Whatever do you mean?"

She couldn't help but scoff, "Oh come on. When I first met you, you were a bit grouchy. I loosened you up a bit, Damien loosed you up a bit more, and Amelia came in with the finishing blow."

"Oh, really?" If it was true she hadn't seen the change herself.

"I think so too." Damien cut in taking his place back at the table.

"You've grown a little soft there too, Mister." Donna grinned.

He raised an eyebrow, "Well, I don't know about that."

"If I didn't know any better I'd say Amelia was your guy's daughter or somethin'."

The joke received an awkward chuckle before Alex changed the subject to the real reason he partner had probably visited, "So, has Frank made a move, yet?"

Taking another sip she sighed, "So far there have been just roomers but he may be getting help from the Armani's..."

Damien frowned, "But they've been neutral for years. It'll be trouble if they get mixed up in this…"

"The best thing to do is just keep on our toes. So far there are only a handful of people that Jimmy feels won't betray him…" Donna sighed and then glanced at her watch. "Well, I'm going to head out. Jimmy's waiting on an update on how Amelia's doing."

Alex stood up and led her comrade to the door, "See ya later."

"See ya." She gave the woman a wink before waving to Damien and exiting the apartment.

Shutting the door, Alex and her counterpart exchanged a look that said everything. For some reason they were both having a bad feeling about the whole situation…

xXx

"No, No. Ah—wait. Wear this one." Amelia giggled pulling out a white blouse.

Alex scrunched her nose, "…I don't even remember getting that."

"So? It's pretty." The girl hummed and held it up to the woman's torso. "See?"

She huffed, "Alright. But we have to hurry up. Damien will be here soon and—"

"We're supposed to be ready to go before he gets here." Amelia recited boredly, "I know, You've both told me over a million times." Placing the blouse on the bed she went searching for shoes as Alex changed. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"'Somewhere fun' _apparently_… He didn't say where exactly." Alex explained biting her bottom lip and shrugging. She was just as clueless about the man's plans as Amelia was.

"Not even to you?" The small girl pulled out a pair of white flip flops and slid them over to Alex's feet.

She shook her head. Sliding on her jeans she was distracted by a knock on the door.

Everything seemed to go quiet.

"Is that Mr. Damien?"

Alex frowned and shook her head a second time, "He has a key. He doesn't need to knock."

Ameila drew closer to her temporary guardian, "Then… Who is?"

"I don't know… but that's a good question."

There was another knock, a bit louder and a little more impatient.

The blond held up a hand, "Stay here." The command was quiet and calm, but let the small one feeling absolutely frightened as the adult left the bedroom.

Scampering over to the door, her foots steps barely made as sound as she crossed her small apartment. Rising to her tippy toes she glanced through the peephole. She tensed at the two figures standing out in the hallway, the both screamed the word thug just by their hardened faces. Alex cursed under her breath and backed away from the door.

Frank's men had somehow found her apartment, which meant she needed to get Amelia out of there.

As a more aggressive knock flooded the room accompanies by a 'polite' order to open the door, Alex made her way back to the bedroom.

"Alex, What's—"

"Shh."

Taking Amelia by the hand, she slid the window open and—after making sure the coast was clear—helped the girl out onto the fire escape. Grabbing her by the shoulders she made her make eye contact, "Ameila, I'm going to buy you some time. Run as fast as you can down the street. Damien was on his way so he'll probably see you. Don't stop for anyone else. If you don't see him go to that 'safe place', we talked about. He'll defiantly find you there." Her words were going so fast that the poor girl would barely keep up.

"What about—"

"I'll be fine. Now go. Try not to be loud about it."

As Amelia started down the fire escape Alex shut the window back, just in time to hear the door splinter as it was kicked in, the knocker probably finally fed up with waiting.

Moving with quiet and caution, she went for her nightstand and pulled her revolver out from its drawer.

Placing her finger on the trigger, Alex positioned herself behind the bedroom door and waited in silence. If asked, she wouldn't have admitted it, but she was scared despite her pride. She could practically feel the beating of her heart rising up into her throat and heard it drumming in her ears.

There had only been a handful of incidents were she'd needed to use a gun and out of those situations only two or three times had she actually had to use the darn thing. Plus, Donna had been there with her and she was much more experienced than Alex was, not to mention she had deadly accuracy.

Her job didn't really need her to go face to face with anybody, she was a wheelman. Driving was her thing, not using a gun. Any fighting she needed to do, she did on the street. Not saying that she didn't know how to defend herself but most of what she knew was fist fighting and fists weren't going to cut it when guns and knives were involved. Alex was sure this was a guns and knives situation seeing as it was Frank's men.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she watched as one of the men entered the room slowly—the other she assumed was checking the other side of the apartment. When he was far enough into the room, Alex stepped forward and held her gun to his head. He froze instantly. "Don't move." She warned, using her foot to push the door closed.

The intruder chuckled, amused at her attempt to try and turn the tables. "Woah there, Princess. Don't be so hasty. All we want is the kid."

"There's no kid here."

"So it seems…" he trailed off giving the room a once over. He glanced back at her, "So where is she?"

The gun clicked as she pulled back the hammer, "Why don't tell me this. What's Frank want her for? He doesn't seem like the family name type so I doubt he sees her as a memento from his dearly departed brother."

"Who knows." He turned slightly, "Say… You don't use a gun much do ya?"

"Wha…?" Alex reeled her head back at the out of the blue question.

"Thought so, your stance is all wrong."

The thug dropped long before she had a chance to reply and kicked her legs out for under her. She fell on top of him, her wrist hitting the bedframe, and the gun slid out of her reach. Pushing herself up she caught sight of the male fishing in his coat pocket for his weapon, her first reaction was to grab his arm and prevent him. Eventually they both ended up struggling for the gun. It went off. The bullet ripping a hole through the leather material of the man's jacket and cutting through Alex's left thigh.

The blond hissed clamping a hand over her wound and didn't really pay much attention to the next few events. Her attacker's partner had come at the sound of the gun shot and the two seemed to exchange a few words… Probably deciding on what to do with her…. She guessed. She had already figured something like this would happen, but she was sure Amelia had gotten a good distance away so it didn't really matter anymore.

A light, "Looks like you'll live another day. Lucky you." Was heard before a she felt a sharp pain at the back of her neck and darkness soon over took her.

xXx

Moaning, Alex felt herself slowly become conscious. Even without opening her eyes she could feel the damage done to her body. The ache at the base of her neck was easily drowned out by the numbing pain from the nice sized hole carved into her leg. And if she thought it couldn't get worse then she was wrong, as she tried to move her wrists she found that they were subdued and moving her good leg she realized that she could feel no floor under her, which meant she was most likely being suspended above ground.

Heh.

_Wonderful_.

Fighting the want to just drift back into sleep, Alex slowly opened her eyes in an attempt to scout her surroundings.

Though, little good that did.

There wasn't really much to see. The room was so dim she could barely make out the dried blood caked to the jeans of her wounded thigh. The room had no windows or doors, the only source of light came from a staircase that seemed to lead to were her kidnappers were enjoying themselves—now that she was paying attention, she could hear their hardy laughter echoing through her prison.

Glancing up she found that they'd tried her wrists together with thick chains that'd been drilled into the concrete celling. Worming a bit she tried to see how tight they were, but her wound throbbed and she was convinced to stop. Letting out a defeated breath she hung her head, obviously she wasn't going to be muscling her way out.

But really, that was the least of her worries. For now she was just hoping that Amelia got away safely. After all, by staying behind she'd figured she'd end up in a similar situation. Alexandra hadn't thought for a minute that'd she'd be able to take on two grown men on her own in a surprise attack. She hadn't though Frank would find the girl so soon, her apartment wasn't in a place where Frank's men could get easily nor would think to look.

The sound of heavy footsteps descending the staircase brought her from her thoughts. Taking a deep breath of courage she raised her head to see the man from before rolling his sleeves up, a half smoked cigarette jammed between his teeth—one more reason to hate the damn smell of smoke.

Their eyes met and he grinned, "Oh. Would you look at that, the princess finally came to."

Alex glared, and against her better judgment growled a "Bite me." The venom in her words were lost by the hoarse, scratchy tone of her voice.

He chuckled, "Believe me. I'd love to. Really would, but my boss wouldn't like it too much." He explained, casually strolling up to her. "He's got a few bones to pick with you… but how about this. Let's just save everybody's time. Tell me where the girl went and it just may save your life."

"How about you step a little closer and let me end yours." She snorted.

The figure let out another dry laugh before he took a step forward and gave her a good sucker punch to the abdomen. Alex hacked, and gasped for breath.

Sighing, he grabbed her sides to steady the swinging of her bindings. "You know… you're making this much harder than it has to be. I was hoping to be civil, but it seems you're just too feisty." He searched for eye contact, "So, because I'm so nice. I'll tame you before the boss gets here." He clapped his hands together and shrugged, "Think of it as… home training. Frank has far less patience than me. If he'd been in my place, you'd be dead already." Alex didn't pay much attention to the crap coming out of his mouth, but she pretty much knew where this was going.

After taking a long drag he flicked the cigarette from his lips and crushed it under his heel. Rolling his neck he brought a fist back in preparation, "Alright. Let's get this over with."

Alex closed her eyes and prepared for a beating of a lifetime.

xXx

A dousing of water brought Alex from her unconscious state. She shivered at its cold temperature and snapped her eyes open. The room was a lot brighter than before and her eyes burned as she tried to see the figures gathered in front of her.

"Wakey wakey, Princess." The light hearted voice of her attacker greeted placing a bucket down.

Ignoring him, she focused on the three newer faces. The first two didn't look important, probably just more of Frank's goons, but the third man on the phone caught her attention. His short stature and graying hair was something she remembered seeing from a picture… and then it hit her.

He was Frank Calzone.

Those in the room stayed quiet as the older man finished up his phone conversation. She couldn't hear was being said into the device, but it seemed important.

When the phone call was finished he closed it and glanced over in her direction. She wasn't sure what kind of face she was giving him but he gave an amused smile, "That was your boyfriend, Damien, on the phone. Apparently, Amelia's back at the mansion… he just _couldn't_ bring her too me because someone else was with him. Just like he _couldn't_ bring her all those times she was with _you_. …Honestly I'm having doubts about just how reliable that man is."

Alex stared dumbly at the boss man and he frowned mockingly at her confused face.

"Damien works for _me_. He has since the beginning."

The girl shook her head, refusing to believe his words.

"I'm surprised he hasn't told you—He seemed pretty fired up when I said you were our guest. I assume you're pretty important to him…" He popped open a few buttons of his coat.

"….Your lying." Her voice was the only thing that made her realize how upset she was at the accusation.

"I don't blame you for not believing me…. But here, I'll call him back. This is all the proof you need." Walking toward her he dialed in a number on his phone before holding it up to her ear. Alex started to move her head away from the device, but it was pressed on her ear with more force.

The other end picked up on the fourth ring, there was a sigh on the other end, "What is it now? I told you there's nothing I can do about the girl at the moment." The voice sounded irritated and high strung, but it was one that she'd notice even over the phone.

"Heh… Damien…?"

It took a few moments for him to answer, "…Alex?"

"W... What are you doing taking with Frank?"

"…Alex, I—"

"Are you kidding me?" She whined with force.

He didn't answer. Her body felt like crap and now her heart did too.

"Get it away from me." The blond hissed, retracting her head away from the phone as if it were on fire. "Get it the hell away from me!"

Stepping away, a pleased Frank took over the conversation leaving a panting Alex jostling her chains. She didn't bother to listen. Hot tears threatened to fall, but she did her best to hold them in. They wanted to see her cry and she didn't dare give them the satisfaction.

"…Look forward to getting a present." Shutting his phone for the second time that evening, Frank turned his attention to his men who'd been quiet for the whole episode and nodded in the woman's direction. "Lower her down."

As the three hopped to it, the short man loosened his tie and located an old chair pressed up against the wall. Grabbing it, he spun it around and leaned on its back. He watched as Alex was lowered to her feet, "So… With that taken care of I've got some unfinished business with you don't I?" He didn't wait for a reply, "You and Donna have been causing some trouble in my plans…. It's about time you paid for it." He ran a hand through his hair, "I'll make you an example. Through you I'll send a message to that punk Jimmy and his skanky whore, plus get rid of Damien's distraction."

One of his thugs grinned, "So what do you want us to do to 'er boss?"

"We'll throw her in the American. She'll float right into the Sacramento River." Frank rubbed his hands together, "But before that, I heard she's an amazing driver. I'm thinkin' her hands must be pretty special to her…" he paused in thought. "Cut off her right arm."

xXx

There were really no words for how she felt as she weakly struggled against the tight grip around her one good arm. Her body ached, her wounds were numb… She was exhausted to say the least. There was really nowhere to go and she didn't waste her energy calling for help. There wasn't anyone around to hear it.

Basically she was screwed… and oddly she didn't know if she cared anymore.

The small rowing boat rocked lightly over the ripples created by the full moon, the night was so peaceful it was almost suffocating—overwhelming even. It was like nature was reminding her that even after she was gone the world would keep turning and it bothered her.

Amelia and Donna would defiantly be upset about her departure, but they had Jimmy to comfort them so she was sure they'd be fine eventually. Then there was Ray, who she'd lost touch with. She was starting to regret not answering his phone calls. Apparently, he and Carla had a kid… She had always meant to visit them. They probably wouldn't even know she was dead if her body was never found… And lastly Damien, right now she felt like giving him a good punch to the nose. Jimmy was going to kill him when he found out he was the traitor... and it sickened her that she was a bit sad about the thought.

Taking a deep breath, Alex watched though a black eye as the man in front of her stopped rowing as the one restraining her made sure the rope tying her hand to her side was tight enough. They both stood up steadily and she was pulled to her feet. One of them whispered a light, "Good Luck." —Whatever that was supposed to mean—before they pushed her off the boat and into the cold waters below.


	4. Story 1, Part 3 : One Castaway, Two Gays

**Story One – Alexandra Adams**

Part 3

Marc Reed sighed, letting his arm hang limp out the window of his pickup… ah, well no. That was incorrect. It wasn't _his_ pickup… he was a scientist, not a farmer.—As stereotypical as that sounded.—The truck was on loan. He needed something to carry his materials home and an acquaintance had offered up this truck. Taking this old thing meant he wouldn't have to rent one and being the frugal man that he was, it was an offer he couldn't turn down.

Staring down the miles of cracked asphalt ahead of him, he both mentally and physically frowned. He still had a ways to go and nothing to occupy his time. The radio was broken—but it wasn't like he liked listening to music anyway… or knew any good stations for that matter. It was just that silent drives seemed to take longer than one filled with some type of distraction whether it be music, or a conversation with another person.

He couldn't really complain though. It was his fault for wanting a house so out of the way. His job required complete concentration and space for experimentation. If he bought a house in a city or suburb there would be both limited space and multiple distractions. Neither of which he liked. He had always been a bit of a loner this way… but even a loner got tired of being… Well, a lone.

Holding in another sigh, Marc let his eyes wander toward the river bed running parallel to the road, the murky water simmering broken patterns of light under the glow of the midday sun. At least her could say there was some good scenery to look at, even if it was no he passed by frequently it was better than having to star at the concrete walls found on most highway sections. That was the one thing you could always count on finding so far away from town, beautiful places not yet touched by the destructive claws of industrialization.

His peaceful thoughts were disrupted when in the corner of his eye he spotted something lying in the sandbar. Not sure what it was at first, it was enough to compelled him to pull over and step out of the car for a looksee.

As he got closer, Marc recognized it as the form of a human being—a woman to be exact, who looked like she'd been through hell.

She was drenched, bruised, and missing an arm… and from the ridged way the end of her shoulder looked it was hacked off rather poorly. Her other hand clenching something for dear life—and upon closer inspection—he found it to be a pair of green goggles, the strap snapped. Instantly, he knelt down beside her and pressed two fingers against her neck. His eyes widened a fraction.

It was amazing but… she still had a pulse.

It was faint and weak but it was good enough for him and so picking her up gingerly he found a place for her in the flatbed.

She needed help and needed it fast.

xXx

Tension thickened under the sound of the heart monitor and its accelerated beeps. Marc did his best to take in a breath and keep a calm face, something that wasn't easy to do when your air tube was being crushed by the skeleton of a prosthetic hand. His baby blue eyes stared down into angry and confused golden ones.

The woman's attention flickered from his face to the hand, eyebrows furrowing. "Wha…?"

He attempted to swallow with great difficulty, "It'd… be easier… for me to explain, if… if you'd release me." He managed to choke out, the lack of oxygen starting to make him a bit dizzy.

Losing her grip she laid the artificial object into her real hand, lightly touching it. She barely took notice of the fresh bandages covering her body.

Rubbing his neck tenderly he took a moment to gather his breath before speaking in what he felt was a soothing voice, "I found you in the sandbank by the river and brought you here… You've been in comatose for three months since then…" He wasn't sure if she was listening, but continued, "My name is Dr. Marc Reed. I have a Doctorate in Robotic Engineering and a Masters in Anatomy, that piece of machinery right there is something I have worked on as a side project for a while, when it is done it should be a good replacement for the one you lost… however you lost it…"

She frowned, "So I'm your Guinean Pig…"

He decided it was best to change the subject, "A friend of mine is a doctor… he should be here soon… he's been monitoring you since you've been here…"

"…I don't like Doctors."

"We have to make sure you're ok. You were beat up pretty bad you know… Besides, I guarantee that you are in completely capable hands, he's one of the best." He waited for her to moment but she didn't. he exhaled, "Rest a bit, I'll wake you when he comes."

Getting up from the edge of the bed he left the guestroom and her to her thoughts.

xXx

Dr. Reed observed the check up from afar.

Dr. Oliver Steel—the man aforementioned—had been pleased to hear that his 'special patient' had finally gained consciousness, even if said patient seemed to be overly cautious of their presence… it was to be expected after all, she was alone in a room with two unfamiliar people.

The woman leaned slightly away as he checked her right eye with his light. "Do you know your name?" the albino questioned in his most convincing 'you can trust me' doctor voice.

"…Yes." She answered, squinting slightly at the brightness of the tiny flashlight.

"May I know it? It would be nice to be able to call you by name." He looked at her left eye next.

"Alexandra… Alexandra Adams."

"Pretty name." He smiled, turning the light off and scribbling something down on his clipboard.

"…I guess."

"Tell me," he started, bringing the clipboard up to his chest and crossing his arms over it, "Are you sore anywhere?"

She thought it over, "Here." She motioned to her abdomen with her left hand, "Mostly when I move around. If I stay still it's not that bad."

He nodded scribbling something else down, "That makes sense. Your ribs are still healing they were both bruised and fractured when Reed found you…" he pushed his wire frames further up his nose. "Anywhere else?"

"I… have a headache."

"Ah. That should be easy to fix, I'll get you something for that." He paused to turn and cough into his inner elbow, "Do you remember the last thing you saw or felt before you woke up here?"

Alexandra glanced out the window in thought. It took a few moments before she spoke, "Cold. I felt cold, the water was a lot more freezing than I thought it's be… I didn't try to stop myself from drowning now that I think about it… not that it would have done any good with one arm gone. I just let myself sink to the bottom…" she looked to Marc and then Oliver, "It was weird, but my last thought was how different the moon looked underwater."

"How'd you get in the water?"

"…I was pushed." She seemed to glare at the sheets.

"Pushed?"

She nodded.

"By who?"

She wouldn't say and instead glanced back out the window before closing her eyes, "Are we done?"

"We're done." Dr. Steel confirmed before giving a polite goodbye and following Marc out the room.

The two walked side by side down the hall silently, both letting the information sink in. Removing his glasses, Oliver handed over his clipboard. "She's recovering well." He said finally, when they'd gotten far enough from the room and out of ear shot. "How's that arm coming along? It looks impressive so far…"

"Fine. She used it rather well for a moment when she woke up this morning…" He pulled the collar of his lab coat down to reveal a reddish-purple bruise forming at the base of his neck.

Oliver slid his glasses back on and paused to examine Marc's neck. "She got you pretty good…"

The scientist winced slightly under the doctor's cold touch, "Yeah."

"You should ice it so the bruising doesn't get worse." He brought his hands back down to his sides and they continued walking, "So, What's your plan now that she's awake?"

Marc placed the clipboard under his arm, "After she heals, I'll finish the arm and convince her to stay. At least until she masters uses it…"

"Well, there probably won't need to be much convincing…" Oliver commented scratching his head, "She doesn't really seem like she has a place to go back to… or at least not one that she wants to go back to."

A silence pasted between them as they came up to the front door. Oliver smiled and grabbed his hat off the coat rack as Mark opened the door for him, "I'll come around again in a few days. Call me if you need me."

Closing the door behind him, the scientist scanned over the clipboard as he headed toward his lab, a hand absent mindedly brushing over his bruise.

xXx

Alex pulled the covers up to her chin and slowly turned over on her side. She'd been given painkillers but it still hurt a bit to move. The pain might have sucked but it was just another sign that this wasn't a dream.

…she was _alive_.

The concept was still a bit hard to grasp. As she hit those cold waters of the American, she had thought for sure that it was the end. Hell, she had welcomed it.

Now she was alive and she was pissed at herself for giving up so easily… but there was something else to be more pissed about—someone to be more pissed at, and as much as she wanted to hop out of bed, drive back home, and knock out her so-called-boyfriend… at the sometime she never wanted to meet him again. She didn't wasn't to be dragged back into the drama she was now labeling her past… Donna and Jimmy would have to deal with things on their own. She wanted no part of it.

Closing her eyes she sighed. She'd have to thank those two—Reed and Steel—they didn't have to help her, but they did. As corny as it sounded she kinda owned them her life in a way… She'd have to figure out a way to pay them back… she was never to the type to like owing people.

Her eyes eventually found their way to the metal arm at her right. It was a basic skeleton with a coil of exposed wires at the center—and it was heavy… almost like dead weight. For a split moment when she'd first woken up she'd be able to use it, but she now found that it wasn't as easy now. As she tried to move the fingers, she noticed the motions were not on par with her thoughts. They moved, but not fast enough and sometimes not the right finger. It was a weird experience, having to try and synch your thoughts with your hand… it was something that was done much earlier in life, something a baby could do and she had to re-learn it.

The thought frustrated her slightly.

At the sound of a light knock she quickly slid the arm back under the covers just as the door was gently pushed open with the tip of a patent leather shoe. Dr. Reed walked in blunderingly doing his best to balance a small full tray of food as he stuffed something back into his pocket.

Marc Reed gave the appearance of an interesting and educated person, his dark brown hair was cut short enough to keep out of his eyes but long enough to look appealing, his eyes were always narrowed as they examined their surroundings, giving the impression that he was always bothered by something, and his expression was always guarded making it hard to guess what went on in that head of his. "I thought you might be hungry…" he explained, monotone.

Alex sat up as he placed it on her lap. She raised her eyebrow almost instantly, "What's this?" She didn't bother to look up from the bowl of soup, two pieces of toast, and a cup of orange juice arranged neatly before her.

"Food." He said simply, as if the answer was just that obvious. She knew he knew that wasn't what she meant.

"Well, yeah… I can see that." She stirred a spoon around in the soup and crinkled her nose.

"Is there a problem?"

"Nothing… I'm just not a fan of veggies…" she explained, pushing the bowl away a bit.

She could have sworn she saw an amused twinkle in his eye as he pushed the bowl back, "It's good for you. Don't you want to get better?"

She frowned at his almost condescending tone. It was as if he was speaking to a child. She decided to ignore it. "Why not order Chinese or something."

"It would get cold before it even reached my doorstep." He explained sitting at the foot of her bed.

"…So we're really out of the way then." She commented in almost hidden relief. The farther she was from everything the better.

Marc noticed this but didn't point it out. Smoothing out his pants' legs, he glanced at the food and then Alex. "Tell you what." He leaned forward slightly, crossing his arms. "Put up with my food now and I'll take you out to eat when you get better, deal?"

Alex bit into a piece of toast and shrugged, "Alright."

xXx

It was quiet in the house… A little too quiet for Alex's liking… Dr. Reed had probably locked himself away in his lab in the basement. That was usually what he did around this time of day.

Two weeks she'd been lying in the same bed and the days seemed to be the same. Dr. Reed wasn't much of a conversationalist, so she rarely spoke to him unless it had to do with the food—he wasn't the best cook out there, so she tried to give him pointers. He didn't even bother asking her to elaborate on her past, which surprised her a bit. Not that she would have said anything if he _had_ asked. It was just interesting was all.

Though her days with Reed were nothing to brag about, it wasn't all bad. The loner scientist had his good points too and there were times where he could say some really insightful things. Now that she thought about… he kinda acted like an old man, though he couldn't be more than in his mid to late-thirties.

Then there was Dr. Steel, she hadn't met him more than three or four times since their first encounter, but she probably spoke more with him in one hour than she had with Dr. Reed for a whole day. And surprisingly their conversations often had Marc as the main topic. She was curious about the guy who'd saved her life after all and Oliver was happy to give a bit on insight. Steel spoke praises of the scientist, but didn't go into much detail. He explained that it was best to get Reed to talk about it himself.

Rolling over on the bed, Alex was happy to report that the painkillers worked fine and she wasn't feeling as shitty as she had the first week. It was nice to be able to move without wincing—even if she did still feel a little stiff. An almost peaceful hum escaped her lips as she closed her eyes. She was anything but tired, but both Dr. Reed and Dr. Steel had given express orders not to leave the bed—something about putting stress on her body or whatever—and in her opinion there wasn't really much to do in a bed besides sleep.

And that had been her plan until she heard a rather loud crash coming from what she guessed was Marc's basement lab, which was odd because she'd never once heard a peep coming from down there. Opening her eyes, she sat herself up and took a moment to listen out for any other noises but the house was once again dead silent.

Frowning she glanced toward the bedroom door. It had been a pretty loud crash… it wouldn't hurt to check it out, right? Just for a minute or so… just to make sure everything was ok. Besides, no matter what they said Alex was sure that staying in bed all day couldn't be good for someone's health. A little leg stretching would do her some good.

Siding with her curiosity, Alex tossed her covers off and carefully swung her legs over the bed. She cringed slightly at the cold wooden floor underneath her toes before standing herself up.—a hand immediately going for the side table to steady herself as her legs got used to being used again.

When she felt up to it, she headed toward the door with slight difficulty before sticking her head slightly out into the hall. With a glance in both directions she found it to be both empty and much bigger than she thought it would be.

Going down the way she believed Marc always turned, she used the wall to keep steady. Her eyes scanned over a few doors, the closer ones she opened a smidge but none of them showed hide or tail of Reed… or whatever it was that made that noise. She did, however, find something interesting about the scientist. The hallways were bare besides a few paintings and a side table or two, but the rooms themselves were pretty well furnished. His taste in furniture wasn't too bad. What was even more interesting, was that so far she hadn't seen any pictures of family, friends, or even himself hanging around. Wonder why?

"Weren't you told to stay in bed, Alexandra?" A familiar reprimanding voice sighed.

Alex turned to find Marc leaning against a doorframe with grease stains smudging his face and his hair disheveled. He grabbed a cloth from his pocket and wiped his hands. Alex opened her mouth, racking her brain for an explanation. "I heard a crash… everything ok?"

"It was just something I'm working on for a client…" He stared at her for a moment and stuffed the cloth back into his coat pocket. "How long have you been on your feet?"

"I don't know… Not that long, I guess."

Pushing himself off the frame, he walked over to her and slung her arm over his shoulder. "Come on, I'll help you back to bed."

She leaned on him, "How much longer am I going to have to stay there?"

Marc didn't answer, he just smiled.

* * *

><p><em>Twenty-four<em>.

"Are you ready? I'm going to try and tap into your nervous system. You need to be able to feel what is happening to this arm or else it could get damaged without your knowledge… Understand?"

Alex nodded, but her attention wasn't really focused on what Marc was trying to explain. She was more interested in the room around her. The various beakers, beeping computers, and unfinished projects held her attention longer than the words of a stoic scientist. But who could blame her? It was her first time seeing a lab—not including the lame high school ones—and even though she wasn't into science stuff it was still interesting.

Her musings were cut off by a sharp zap that travelled up her metal arm. She hissed, her fingers flinching.

Reed looked up, "Felt that?"

She glared at the metal tool in his hand and scoffed, "Yeah."

"Good. Now we shouldn't have any problems with you damaging your arm with everyday tasks…" Leaning back into his seat, he rolled it over to one of his various desks and reached into its bottom drawer pulling out a tape measure. Rolling back he ignored the curious look he was given, "Hold out your left arm."

Alex raised an eyebrow, but did as she was told. "What's that for?"

The scientist wrapped the tape around her bicep, "I'm going to cover the skeleton and I need exact measurements if I'm going to make the right look similar to your left…" he explained scrawling his findings down on a piece of scratch paper. "I don't want to keep the wires exposed for too long. But even if the arm is covered try and keep it away from liquids, especially the joints. A little water is fine for short time exposure but the arm will short out, if it gets through the cover."

She tilted her head to the side in boredom, "Yeah, I get it. Water is bad for machines… that's something you learn as a kid."

He glanced at her face, "Alright Smartass. Just making sure you know. You're not exactly one to follow instructions…"

"Yeah, well…" she shrugged.

xXx

"I call this, Movement Therapy." Dr. Steel explained from his spot on the other side of the room. It was only easy to hear him because the space itself was empty enough for his voice to echo. Dr. Reed had kept the place cleared out just in case he ever needed it for anything, so it was a good spot for what Oliver had in mind.

"So, how does this work?" Alex asked, taking a minute to smooth out the borrowed pair of pants loosely hugging her legs and look over to Marc leaning against a far wall as he observed the session.

Oliver smiled, "Here. I'll show you. Catch this." He softly tossed a tennis ball in her direction, "Use your right hand only. Don't let it hit the ground."

The ball bounced once off her fingers before she snatched it out of the air, "You want me to play catch…? I don't see how—"

"It's going to help with your reflexes. We've got to let you get used to using it in situations where you need to react fast. You're still consciously thinking of which part of your arm needs to move. Your right arm actions are taking too long." Marc clarified from the side bar.

"Oh." She mumbled dumbly, throwing the ball back to the doctor.—It missed by a long shot and bounced off the wall a few inches from an unsuspecting Reed's head. "…Oops..."

"Do you know how to throw a baseball?" the scientist grumbled, picking the potentially dangerous projectile off the floor.

"Yeah, 'course I do. It was the arm, I swear." She explained, raising her hands defensively as she held a snicker.

"Why don't you roll it back for now?" Steel suggested catching the ball as it was thrown to him.

Alex agreed and a few more tosses were thrown and with each the woman's use of her arm got slightly better. The process, however, was a tedious one—Marc noted—and it didn't seem like much fun (Alex's constant yawning tipped that one off). It was then that he was struck with an idea and left the room.

"Where's he going?" Alex questioned, voicing the thought of both people still in the room.

"If I had to guess, I'd say the lab… He had that 'Bingo!' look on his face." Oliver guessed tossing the ball her way.

"So he's up to something?" she hummed curiously.

"Most likely."

The two paused in their game of catch as a small metal contraption was rolled in, rattling lowly over the wooden floor. Marc hauled the machine over toward Oliver, before plugging it in and dumping a bag full of balls into its basket. It didn't take long for them to guess it was a ball machine.

Alex was the first to comment, "What's that for?"

The scientist dusted off his hands, "A more challenging way to conduct this so called therapy…"

"Seems I'm being replaced." Oliver chuckled lightly.

"Alright. Step back, Oliver." Reed motioned the order with his hand and turned on the instrument before the blond could voice her complaints.

The first ball fired and barely missed nailing her side. "I don't think this is—Woah!—such a good idea, guys."

"Well, you're not supposed to dodge it, Alexandra." Marc scoffed crossing his arms as the woman yet again fumbled out of the way of an incoming projectile.

"What do you expect me to do?"

"…Catch it."

"It's coming at like—Ah!—90 miles an hour!"

"Ten. Ten miles per hour, that's less than a pro pitcher. So, stop your whining and focus." He reprimanded.

"I am focusing!" she insisted, not paying attention as a ball came whirling and bounced off her forehead. Growling she stumbled back, only to slip on one of the many tennis balls littering the floor and tumble to the floor, back first.

"…You broke her, Reed." Steel tisked as he went to his patent's side.

"She didn't focus." He commented simply, "We'll have to do it again."

Alex groaned in protest.

xXx

"Oh come on. You promised." The woman reminded, sprawling herself out on the couch.

"I know, I remember… but today I'm busy." Marc explained for what seemed like the fiftieth time, swatting an outstretched arm out of his face as he leaned over to give her one of his looks.

"But I'm hungry. Are you just going to let you guest starve?"

"Guest?" he snorted, "More like squatter."

Alex frowned and sat up, "Fine. Then at least cook something."

"Aren't there leftovers from yesterday?"

She scrunched her nose, "You mean leftovers of that overcooked pasta you made?" she shook her head, "I'd rather starve."

He glared, "Then you make something."

"How about I supervise?" she offered with a grin.

"How about no?"

"Oh come on." She pleaded, hopping off the couch, "I know how to cook, I just don't like doing it. Plus, I still haven't fully mastered how to use _this_ remember?" she hummed, lifting her mechanical arm.

Marc sighed, "Whatever… I don't care, come on."

With that the two left for the kitchen.

xXx

Alex shifted slightly under the cool wind of a spring afternoon. Today Dr. Steel had insisted that their next phase of therapy be executed outside since it was warm enough and it wasn't a bad idea. She hadn't been outside for more than a few minutes since she'd come to, so it was nice to get some fresh air.

Her musings were interrupted by Reed clearing his throat, "Now that we've got the arm functioning properly, we've got to work on strength control. The arm I made is much stronger than your left so what we have to do is show you how to control that strength as well as strengthen your human hand. Got that?" he questioned.

Alex nodded, "Basically, Balance is what we're going for, yeah?"

"Exactly." He turned to a red-faced Oliver blowing up a rather big looking balloon-like Panda. "Finished?"

Steel paused for a minute and let out an airless, "Almost."

"While we're waiting for him we'll do this…" Marc trailed of as he grabbed a sac from behind a tree. Reaching inside he pulled out a balloon.

"And that is for…?"

He tossed it to her, "Just catch it."

Alex reached for it with both hands but applied too much pressure and it popped. "Oh, ok. I got it." She spread her legs out and squatted into a type of ready stance, "Toss me another."

This motion continued for a few more minutes with Alex popping the balloons at a ratio of 9 out of 10 times. By the time they were done every balloon in the sac was how on the ground, popped, and Oliver had finally finished blowing up the Panda.

Marc sighed and walked over to the dummy, "Maybe this will help you. Oliver thought that if it was something with a cute face you would unconsciously pull your punches. So, I want you to give it a try. Hit it."

Alex gave him an odd look, "Seriously?"

He just starred expectantly.

She exhaled, "Ok, whatever…" she landed a lazy baby punch to one of the Panda's rosy cheeks.

"What was that?" he scoffed, "Do it like you mean it."

"I though you wanted strength control?"

He rubbed his head, "Ok. Look, punch the Panda as hard as you can with your left hand."

"Why?"

"Just do it." She did and the Panda rocked back, violently slamming its head on the ground before swaying rhythmically. "Ok, now hit it just as hard with you right as hard with your right. Any harder and you'll pop the poor thing."

"Aha. Ok, I get it."

xXx

"Damn. _This_ is your car?" Alex's impressed voice rang through the rather neat garage. She brushed her hand over a silver 2009 SSC Ultimate Aero in almost perfect condition.

"Last time I checked it was." He opened the car door and offered an impatient, "You getting in anytime soon?" before sitting at him place by the wheel.

Ignoring him she ran her hand a last time over the slick paint job and plopped into shotgun. "You should let me drive this sometime. I could show you what this baby can _really_ do." The blond grinned.

Marc leaned an arm against the door and started the car up. "If your driving is as good as your ability to pay attention, I don't think that would be such a good idea."

Alex snapped on her seatbelt as they pulled out of the garage, "I'll have you know that I am more than capable of driving. You could even say I'm one of the best." She stated matter-of-factly. He took his eyes off the road for a moment to give her a disbelieving look and she returned it with a mock expression of hurt. "Seriously! I'll even prove it when we get back if you want me to. I've been itching to get behind the wheel for a while now."

"So, you're a motorhead?" he asked with surprising interest.

"Born and breed." She smirked confidently.

"I see."

There was something in the way he said those words that gave Alex the feeling he was up to something. The feeling stuck in the back of her mind all the way into town, but was soon forgotten as they pulled up to a pizza shop—prior to Alex's request. The trip took a total of about an hour. Why he lived so far away from civilization?—she didn't know.

"What do you want?" Marc questioned as they strolled up to the counter.

"Cheese is fine… and a Sprite." She shrugged, glancing at the Italian themed décor covering the walls. The place was small, and not very crowded, but from the wonderful smell coming from the back kitchen she could tell the pizza was pretty good.

As the scientist ordered , Alex found them a booth by the window. There wasn't really much of a view—unless you liked staring at a busy street—but she liked the natural sunlight that poured in. She smiled as Marc placed her soda down and sat in the seat across from her, "Thank you for taking me."

He took a sip of his own drink and replied with a simple, "I keep my promises." eyes trailing off to gaze at something behind her.

The two were quiet for a moment. Alex not finding words to make good conversation and Marc just not trying. Resting her head in her hand the woman glanced at him curiously, "So, what's your story?"

"Why so interested all of a sudden?"

She shrugged, "It's been months and I still don't know much about you… besides the fact you have a thing for steel." Marc nearly choked on his soda, his face showing an almost flustered expression. "What you thought I didn't know?" She grinned teasingly, "You two look good together."

"Shut up." He squeezed out an embarrassed frown. "We're not an item."

She knew he wasn't one to talk about his love life, so she thought this was a cute reaction. She never pegged him for the embarrassed type. "So, what's holding you back, Hm? It's nothing to be assumed of."

"It's not really any of your business."

"Fine." Alex held up her hands in surrender, "But don't come crying to me when Oliver gets tired of waiting."

Marc was about to retort, but stopped himself as an employee set their pizza and a few plates down on the table. Alex scrunched her nose at the scientist 's half of the pizza, "You put _ham_ on _pizza_?"

"And?" Taking a few pieces and dropping them down on his plate.

She shook her head mumbling a light, "What does Steel see in you…?"

xXx

Dr. Oliver Steel pulled up to Reed's estate, a light smile forming on his pale lips at the sight of Marc and Alex speaking expressly in front of the garage door. Ever since the blond had come into their lives, Oliver noticed Marc had become more lively and more willing to communicate with people… only he felt a bit jealous that the woman was able to bring that side out of him, but also a bit thankful. He'd known Marc since college and he'd never felt more connected with the man then since Alexandra had come around. Which he couldn't help but find a bit funny, Marc had always had trouble with females, so for one to actually be the one to bring him out of his shell was a bit ironic.

Stopping a few feet short of them, he cut off the engine and stepped out, "What are you two up to?"

Alex grinned and gave him a light wave, "You're just in time to witness something amazing."

Marc grunted, "You haven't completely mastered using your arm. You'll brake it… or worse hurt yourself."

Alex rolled her eyes, "Don't worry. I've have plenty of practice. Besides, what's the point of it if I can't even use what I've learned?" She held out her hand, "Now gimme." The scientist pushed her hand away.

Oliver chuckled, "What's this all about?"

"She wants to drive my car." The scientist explained, not noticing the woman reaching into his back pocket until his keys were already dangling between her fingers. Marc reached to take them back but she retracted her hand out of his reach.

"Just let her, Reed, she's responsible enough." The doctor advised, earning him a heated glare.

"See? Steel agrees."

Marc let out a hard sight. He felt almost like a father not wanting his daughter to drive his prized car, "Don't wreck it."

He grin widened, "Sweet." Strutting inside the garage she jingled the keys happily before stepping in the car. Soon the roaring of a V8 engine echoed out the open door before Marc's Aero backed out the driveway. Alex stuck her head out from a moment to give a cocky, "Keep your eyes peeled!" and then wheeled the vehicle down the dirt road that Oliver had advanced up a moment before.

The roar disappeared for a moment as the car went out of view and when it reentered the line of sight it came down the road backward before being haphazardly flipped around in a J turn, kicking up a mountain of dust before speeding off in the opposite direction, a light but loud, "Woooo!" being heard from the driver's seat.

The next time the car was spotted it was leaning backward, its two front wheels off the ground—almost gave Marc a heart attack. Oliver patted the man on the back and gave him a sympathy glance, "Relax she's just having a little fun."

The scientist exhaled worriedly, "She's going to kill herself."

"Well, don't jinx her." The albino reprimanded, looking back to the road. "She's good though isn't she?"

"…Yeah."

Alex did a few more laps of showing off before pulling back into the garage, an impressed Oliver giving her a round of applause.

The woman smiled, "If you thought that was impressive you should see my racing."

"Alright, playtime's over. Alex, I'm hungry. Pay me back for the pizza and make those things you were bragging about the other day, I have something to speak to Oliver about."

Alex gave him a confused glance at first, but 'Oh'ed in realization. "Gotcha." She winked, "Have fun boys." She cooed before disappearing inside the house.

Reed turned to the confused Oliver, "About that cup of coffee... How's Friday sound?"

xXx

"Soooo?" Alex smirked suggestively as Marc stepped into the living room in a nice button up and some slacks.

"What?" he glared at her, obviously annoyed with her presence—as always.

"Excited for your _date_?" she interrogated, putting emphasis on the 't'.

He grabbed his coat out of the closet and ignored her question, "I'll be back in a few hours. Don't burn the house down."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She brushed the warning off and hopped up to help him fix the first two buttons of the shirt. "Have fun. Tell Steel I said, 'Hey' and bring me back something, yeah?" Marc nodded and she watched as he left, a hand absently reaching for the goggled hanging loosely around her neck.

The realization of the fact that she was now alone in the house didn't hit until moments after Marc's Aero was heard pulling out of the driveway. A sense of slight loneness washed over her and for a moment her mind went back to the memories of the past that she wished to forget.

Of laughing faces, late night movies, and fresh kisses. It almost made her miss the old days…

Pushing the thought from her head, she sighed, looking around the room for something to occupy her time. Though not finding anything worthwhile inside, she glanced out the window and decided a walk could do her some good.

Stepping outside she took a deep breath and stretched, letting the warm sunrays seep into her skin. Heading down the driveway she listened to the occasional tweeting of the birds and admired the trees, Reed didn't keep his yard too trimmed but the way it naturally grew had a strange beauty of its own.

As she got to the end of the pathway she noticed the flag on the mailbox was pushed up and was immediately interested. Using the excuse that she'd put the mail on the table for the scientist, she opened the grey box to find a single, white metal clasp envelope. Pulling it out she looked it over and notice two eye catching things. Not only was it priority mail, but it was from a sender titled '_Split/Second_'.

xXx

"Alex." Reed called from the doorway, laptop in hand.

Said woman looked up from the thick textbook she'd found on one of Marc's bookshelves. She hadn't read it really, just skimmed. "Yeah?"

"I need you for a moment." He motioned for her to follow before heading down the hall.

Tossing one book on the table Alex lazily got up and followed with a bored sigh. "What do you need?" she questioned, catching up with his long strides.

"My client is coming—" he cut himself off to glance down at his watch, "in a few minutes. I need you to help me with something."

"Hm~? You asking for help?" That pecked her curiosity, "That's a first. What do you need done?"

"You're going to go up against my latest project." He explained leading her out to the yard.

"I'm wha—" she stopped speaking as her eyes fell upon a dark grey—maybe black—basic car body with yellow and black arrows around the body resting next to Marc's Aero. It looked almost like the car version of a test dummy. "Where were you hiding _that_?"

"That's not important." He placed a hand on the hood of the car. "This is a Test Driver that I've been working on for a while now… It's basically a car that can operate without a driver."

"Why'd your client ask you to build that?" she asked, trying to peek through the extremely darkened windows.

"It's a new show that they're developing, this is one of the ways they're going to pick the contestants… I don't know the details." He leaned against his invention and looked at her expectantly, "Will you do it?"

"Of course, it's the least I can do. 'sides, I've never raced a machine before… should be fun." She raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure you want to use your car though?"

He nodded hesitantly, "Just try not to bang it up too much."

"If I wreck it, I'll fix it." She promised.

The two were soon drowned out by the loud spinning of rotor blades. They both looked toward the sky just as a helicopter approached from the horizon.

"That's you client?" Alex hollered over the noise, covering her eyes from the dust as the helicopter hovered over the ground.

"He always was flashy…"

They watched as the vehicle landed and cut off its engine. Two men in black suits and dark shades stepped out, followed by a male in a loud yellow silk shirt under a black vest and dark jeans. His hair was cut into a Keith Urban hairstyle. Seriously. He basically looked like a younger version of the guy. If he was going for the heartthrob look, he pulled it off pretty well.

As soon as his charcoal eyes found Marc, he smiled and through his hands up in the air, "Reed! It's good to see you again old friend." He walked over and patted the scientist roughly on the shoulders. "It's been too long." His gaze trailed over to Alex, "Well hello there." He glanced down at her mechanical appendage and pursed his lips, "Come now. Don't tell me Reed has made you one of his little projects."

Alex frowned, "I'll have you know—"

"She's a friend of mine. She got into a little accident is all… I asked her to help with the demonstration." Reed cut in before the woman could utter one of her cunning remarks, "Alexandra this is Tom Branigan. Tom this is Alexandra Adams."

There was a hint of realization that sparked in the mention of her name, "Ah. Well, nice to meet you… _Alexandra_."

The blond simply nodded, biting down a snarky comment.

The man's attention went to Marc's creation, "So this is what I asked for?" It was a rhetorical question of course, "I assume it works perfectly?"

The scientist nodded opening up his laptop, "The Test Driver is programmed from here. Its skill level, knowledge, and objective are modifiable depending on how hard you want it to challenge its opponent." Tom stepped close to take a look. "The Driver is also activated from this program. Based on what you command from the control panel the Driver will process the information and find the best way to execute the order."

Tom nodded sucking in the information, "Sounds good. Can we see it in action?"

"Of course." He turned to Alex, "Are you ready?"

She smirked, "I'm always ready." Slapping on her goggles, the blond stepped into the Aero. The butterfly feeling she'd always got in her gut in the past started to rise and she smiled. It was good to be behind the wheel again… where she belonged.

"3…" Tom called as both engines were started, decided to take the role as the starter. "2… 1… Go!"

The two cars took off down the yard, head to head, as the four men stood back observing. Branigan crossed his arms, watching intently. "She's as good as they say…" he commented lightly.

Marc glanced up from his laptop, slightly startled. "You know of her?"

"Sort of." He admitted, "It's my job to know the best of the best after all." Tom exhaled lightly, "Alexandra Adams is the name of a wheelman that teamed up with a mercenary. She's supposed to be dead…"

The scientist shifted uneasily, "How'd you find this out?"

The flashy man smiled, "I have my sources." He watched as the Aero narrowly made the turn around a palm tree cutting off the Test Driver. "But anyway. The reason why I brought this up is because I'm looking for the members of an Elite team for the show.—I'm sure I told you that already—She was one of the people we were keeping an eye on… You should bring her by our establishment. We're choosing on the third. It's going to be a contest of sorts."

"Knowing her she'd probably jump at the challenge…" Marc mumbled, looking back to the race. "I'll tell her about it, but it's up to her if she wants to go."

**Story One – Alexandra Adams, END. **_**Path Set**_


	5. Story 2, Part 1 : Costly Mistakes

**Story Two – Elliot Stewart**

Part 1

_Ten_

The summers in Miami were always very humid and very hot, the kind of heat that made a person not want to do anything. However, as hot as it was, Miami was most beautiful during the summer. Especially near the white sandy beaches and swaying palm trees, there one could at least find a nice ocean breeze to cool you down—and of course the water itself did a fine job as well.

South Beach in particular was pretty buzzing around hot days like this. The sun and surf dragged in a lot of people, locals and tourists alike. It was here that a young boy took the liberty to lay himself out on the concrete wall off to the side of the boardwalk, the latest copy of Hot Rod magazine held in front of his pale face, in both interest and to block out the harmful sunrays. His deep chocolate brown eyes scanned the newest model of the ever so popular Pontiac.

"Elli!" a voice sounded from the distance. "Elliot!" It called variations of the name as it grew closer. Though hearing this, it wasn't until the fourth or fifth call that Elliot sighed and slowly pushed himself up, tucking the magazine under his arm. He squinted at the harsh sunlight hitting his eyes, having a hard time making out the figure coming through the moving crowd. "Elliot!" A small blond third grade boy huffed breathlessly, coming to a stop a few inches away.

"Did you run all the way from the house?" Elliot asked his younger brother, the frown on his face deepening. The youngling was usually like that. Whenever he when down to the beach to relax, Benjamin always ran up to him with something he found ground breaking. Their home wasn't beach front property, but it was close enough to walk. Even so, Benjamin wasn't supposed to walk the streets by himself, their father barely them he himself do it.

Ben nodded quickly, "Yeah." Taking one last breath, the boy grinned his ocean blue eyes sparkling, "Look at this!" He motioned toward his swim trunks where a small lump of fur poked out, "Dad brought it home!"

Elliot peered uninterestedly at the small golden animal, unaffected by the cute way it sniffed around with its eyes still closed, "He got you a rat?"

His brother pouted, "No! It's a puppy!" He held the fur ball up to the older boy's face and grinned wider, "She's for both of us."

Elliot didn't look as excited as his brother, which—if one knew him well enough—was understandable. He had never been an animal person, especially when it came to dogs.

Dogs were affectionate creatures, but Elli wasn't really an affectionate kid. He was overly mature for his age and didn't have many friends due to his anti-social nature. It was sad in a way, while all the other kids goofed off, he kept to himself. He'd rather read or nap than make friends… not that he didn't have any, he just didn't have many. "What do you mean 'our'? I don't want it, you can have it."

Not paying attention to his brother's rejection of the dog, Benjamin sat down next to him and cradled the puppy in his lap, "What should we name her?"

"Rat."

Ben glared, "Seriously! A good name."

Elliot sighed and scratched the back of his head, "I don't know… you name her."

"Hmmm…" lifting the puppy up he stared at its closed eyes, doing his best to concentrate. He smiled as an idea struck him and turned to his elder brother merrily, "We'll call her Molly!"

"Ah." He agreed with a slight nod, turning his attention back to his magazine. He didn't really care what they called the thing.

* * *

><p><em>Fifteen.<em>

Elliot tuned out the repetitive voice of his Pre-Calculus teacher ranting about the class not remembering the required basic algebra skills needed for the course. He knew the material inside and out and he didn't want to waste his time listening to an old hag when he already knew what to do. It was like that in most of his classes.

Elliot had learned everything at an early age and was a grade or two ahead of the others his age. He wouldn't go so far as too call himself a genius, but he didn't doubt his intelligence and he was confident that he could pass a test without the help of nagging old women with thick-rimmed glasses.

So instead he glanced out the window, letting his mind wander through the clouds.

"Pssssst!" An annoying hiss called to him from his right, breaking the peaceful composure he'd so skillful set up around him. "Psssssssst!"

Exhaling Elliot glanced over to the source of the noise—his self-proclaimed 'Best Friend', Smithy. "What?"

"I found us another one. You probably know it. It's that '95 Corolla that grumpy ol' Mr. Henry owns."

He snorted, "That old thing?"

"What? It'll make good scrap metal. Plus I hear there's something _real _good under the hood."

The cynical young man rested his head in his hand and raised an eyebrow, "Now that I think about it, doesn't Henry own a gun?"

"So?" A devious grin formed, "You scared?"

Anyone knew Elliot had a big ego, he wouldn't let someone as full of it as Smithy was get away with saying shit like that. "Heh." The brunette couldn't help up smirk, "Nah, but life just got a whole lot interesting."

The two were interrupted by the clearing of a feminine throat, "Mr. Stewart and Mr. Jones, is what you have to say more important than my lesson?"

"No ma'am." Smithy chuckled, leaning back and flashing her a cheesy smile.

"Good, because Mr. Stewart may be passing the class with remarkable grades, but _you_ Smithy are falling behind." She reprimanded, turning back around to the board.

xXx

"Alright there it is buddy." Smithy smiled pointing to a rusting deep red corolla catching dust in a cracked driveway.

From behind a dry, overgrown shrub Elliot scanned the surrounding area. Old Henry lived in a cul-de-sac of sorts which put the two on extra alert. Cul-de-sac's were usually filled with noisy neighbors that liked to getting into everybody's business. He noticed, however, that though due to the untamed lawn and high picket fence the closely placed houses weren't too much of a problem. The teen took a relaxed breath. It defiantly made his job much easier. His eyes then gave the house a once over, "Looks like the old fart is in the living room watching the game…"

"Should be. He's always watching the same recording at the same time every Friday—like a damn ritual. You would think for once I'd find someone interesting to stake out." He grumbled begrudgingly.

Smithy had watched the old man's routine for a little over a few weeks due to the unique situation. Usually it was easy to find a time when the car owner was gone, whether it be on a date or at work but this guy was an ex-marine who'd gotten injured permanently in his left leg. He didn't leave his property much because of his limp, so he twenty-two year old daughter came by every few weeks to give him some groceries. Smithy figured that the old corolla was a waste to just leave in the driveway. If he wasn't going to use it what did he have it for?

That was pretty much the motive behind all of the boys' heists. When Smithy saw a car that someone didn't use much and didn't rely on it, he marked it as a target. He'd watch the owner's routine and find the easiest time to obtain it—though many times he'd predict wrong—and then Elliot used his amazing skills of stealth and intelligence to break in to the vehicle without setting off the alarm and make a quick getaway. It also wouldn't hurt to point out that the brunette had some badass skills behind the wheel, which was saying something because technically he wasn't licensed to drive yet. In contrast, Smithy was much better at both fixing and admiring cars than driving them.

After a car was stolen, they'd quickly sell it off as scrap and possibly keep a few parts or two. They planned to use the money to save up and build a car fast enough to show off at the rallies held downtown. They were both into earning quick money and since there was a lot of betting that took place down there, they figured it wouldn't hurt to give it a shot. The plan was basically, get money to get a car and then enter races to get more money to make the car better so that more money could be won. Elliot would be the one driving of course, Smithy was more of the technical support kind of guy. Not only did he have an eye for what made a car run its best, but he was good with his hands. The two were basically a dynamic duo in the making.

"Be on guard. The walls are thin so once I start up the engine he'll probably hear it. We'll have to be extra quick about it." Elliot deduced, pulling the bandana further up his nose before adjusting his cap.

Smithy handed him a prybar, "Alright. Let's just get this over and done with. I'm hungry." He joked, staying behind to watch as the brunette hopped up from their hiding place and broke into a crouching sprint toward the trunk of the car.

Sliding the prybar into the trunk's opening, Elliot applied pressure with one quick downward motion and let the trunk pop open softly, catching it before it swung back fully. Smirking he slid into the opening before kicking in the backseat of the car and quickly making his way to the driver's seat, making sure to unlock the car door to allow Smithy to less-than-stealthy slip in.

Elliot went to work removing the ignition cover and pulling out the correct wires from the cylinder. It wasn't the first time he'd hotwired a car and so he wasn't too phased by the pressure being put on him as Smithy's leg bounced up and down—a nervous habit he'd had since they were kids.

The engine grinded briefly before cutting off and Elliot 'tsked' fiddling a bit more with the wires. The noise was loud enough to be heard from the house and the two soon heard the muffed cursing of Old Henry scrambling to his feet.

Smithy tensed, "Dude. You might want to hurry that up…"

"Chill, the car's been sitting here for a while. I almost…—Got it." The engine growled and Smithy let out a sigh of relief as the brunette put the car in reverse.

Just as the vehicle began to back out, two warnings were heard out of Henry's shotgun was he hobbled out his front door—the first hitting the concrete just short of the car and the second shattering the tail light. "Hey! Hey! Ya damn kids!" the old foggy grumbled shaking the gun in the air as his precious corolla sped down the street, the open trunk flapping madly behind before slamming shut.

"Holy shit!" Smithy laughed, falling back into the leather seat.

The driver beside him chuckled a bit to himself—an action he didn't do much, "Berny's gonna be pissed about the light…"

xXx

"Where the hell have you been?" Mr. Stewart questioned from his black suede seat, a copy of sports illustrated resting in his lap. He'd waited all night for his son to get home, just like every other night. It'd become a bit of a routine for the two. It used to end with Elliot getting grounded, but that didn't work so the man had started to try lecturing… not that it helped.

Elliot sighed giving a tired, "Hello to you too Dad…" as he closed the front door.

His father pulled off his reading glasses, a hand running through his greying blond hair, "Do you know what time it is?" He answered his own question quickly before the teen had a chance to answer. "Midnight—Twelve o'four to be exact. Where were you?"

The brunette yawned, "The garage. If you've forgotten I work there."

"Till midnight? On a school night? What kind of boss lets his teenage employee work that late?" He scoffed leaning forward.

"It's called overtime—and what does it matter? I've always done well in school and you were the one that told me to get a job."

"Don't be a smartass." Mr. Stewart snapped before nodding over to the couch, "Sit down." Elliot didn't move at first, but after a stern "_Now_" he plopped down begrudgingly. "Elliot, what do you do with your time? As soon as you get home from school you go out, you come home past curfew, and don't get me started about the weekends. Your mother's worried for you and Benjamin misses you." His jaw tightened, "You need to spend more time with your family."

Though it didn't seem like it through the man's hard expression, he was concerned for his son. For all he knew, the boy could be about impregnating women or getting high off mushrooms. Elliot may have been a smart kid, but he didn't like follow orders and it was hard to keep tabs on him. Not to mention the boy had one hell of a poker face. It made it difficult to connect with him. Mr. Stewart just couldn't read him and he wasn't sure what to do about it.

When Elliot didn't give anything but a black stare as a response he was sent away with a wave of the hand. As he passed he caught his father sigh a light, "What are we going to do with you?"

* * *

><p><em>Sixteen<em>.

Elliot paused briefly at the entrance of Berny's garage. He felt as if something was off. The normal sound of cutting metal and the smell of oil were not present. It was… off putting.

Slowly setting his heavy duffle bag down in a chair, the young man stepped further into the shop, "Yo, Bern? Smithy?"

Someone tripped over a bucket and stumbled out into the open—it was Smithy, a big smile prominent on his face. "Dude, come out back. You're gonna love this."

Furrowing his eyebrows, Elliot followed the clumsy fool toward the back door of the building.

"Remember that dream about getting a race worthy kickass car?" The buffoon grinned, letting the question hang as he pushed the door open to reveal the ever to charming Berny Biggins playing under the hood of the most ridiculous car he'd ever seen.

Elliot shoved his hands in his pockets and stared quizzically at the vehicle before giving Smithy a hard stare. The car didn't exactly scream 'kick-ass', it was dented in the bumper, the tail light was broken, and hot pink wasn't necessarily the most manly color in the world… even if it was covered in dust and dirt.

A snort came from under the hood of the car before it became a full eruption of heavy, hardy laughter. Bernie stepped back a hand resting on his plump gut. "I… I'm sorry. Ha! I just can't hold it in anymore…" he gasped though his laughs and held up a finger, "You haven't seen the best part yet." Opening up the driver's side door the big man hit the horn and the sound of meowing kittens filled the lot.

Smithy covered his mouth to without his laughter in an attempt to keep a serious face… the attempt failed of course.

"You wasted our money on a pink pussy?" the brunette growled, the nickname earning a chuckle from Bern.

Smithy held up his hands in defense, "Woah, woah. Calm down. What matters is what's on the _inside_. It's got a megaflow exhaust system, splinter chrome plated rims, and check _this_ out," he nodded over toward hood of the car. Elliot stepped beside Berny and glanced in. He was surprised to find a V-8 engine that—with some work—could end up pushing out some pretty good horsepower. "With some good cleaning and a few tweaks we could use those parts. The girl I bought it from probably didn't even know what she had, I got it for a really nice penny."

Berny stepped in to finished the explanation, "Imma let you boys take that ol' mustang that's sitting in the back of the garage for god knows how long. The owner died and no one's come to claim it. I'll take this pink… thing… for the parts. Sound like a good trade?"

Elliot took a moment to mull it over before nodding thoughtfully, "Yeah… sounds like a plan."

xXx

A lime green Ford Mustang pulled up the driveway of the Stewart household, it's black racing stripes catching the attention of young Benjamin who was playing with Molly. Gaping at the vehicle, his mouth dropped even further when Elliot stepped out of the car in all his smugness.

"Woah…" the young lad complimented running up to his older brother, a peppy Molly following close behind. "Elli, is that your car?"

"Yeah." He confirmed, shutting the car door.

"Sweet, It looks awesome!" The blond smiled, hopping a bit in excitement. "Do you think I can ride in it some time?"

Elliot sighed and patted the boy's head, "We'll see."

Benjamin gave a cute boy-ish grin, "Promise?"

He nodded.

The youngling let out a happy shout of joy and proceed to look for the car as a brunette woman in her late 30's stepped out of the house, a pleasantly surprised look on her face, "Now… I know that the boy standing over there couldn't be my handsome first-born because he's much _too_ busy to spend some time in a dinky place like this." A hint of sarcasm running though her words as she placed a hand on her hip.

Elliot didn't didn't bother to point out they'd seen each other just this morning, instead he gave her a tired, "Hey Mom."

They met each other at the bottom of the stoop and she smiled grabbing him into a hug, "You don't have anything planned today, do you?"

He hugged her back, "Not at the moment."

She pulled back to look up at him, he stood a few inches taller than she did. "Good. Then do you think you could spare some of that free time with me and Benjy?" Though her voice sounded sweet, the glint in her eyes told him there was no room for him to deny her will.

"Not like you going to give me a choice…"

Her smile widened and she patted him on the cheek, "Good boy. I taught you well." She glanced over at Eliot's new car and raised an eyebrow. "Is that yours?"

He followed her eyes and nodded, "Smithy's too."

She raised both eyebrows when he pointed this out, "Don't tell your father that…" she warned out of ear shot from her younger son.

"I know." His father pegged Smithy as a troublemaker and didn't like Elliot hanging out with him, "Where is… father."

"Work. He's on overtime again." She rubbed his arm, "Come one inside. I made cookies." She spoke loud enough for both boys to hear her before making her way inside.

Elliot grimaced slightly and gave Benjamin a worried look as the boy ran up alongside him. The blond caught the look and cupped his hand over his mouth to whisper, "She's joking. She bought them."

Mrs. Stewart wasn't the best cook in the world… in fact she was quiet horrible.

xXx

"What?" Smithy exclaimed jumping off the couch, the game controller dangerously close from tumbling out his palms.

"Five to one." Elliot chimed casually hiding a smirk behind his glass of soda.

"Rematch!" He declared hotly, pointing the handle of his controller a few inches from the boy's face.

"Alright," the brunette shrugged simply, taking a sip of soda before setting it down on an end table. "but I don't know why you insist on going against me."

Plopping back down on the couch, the rowdy boy went through the game's settings, "Screw you." He grumbled, "There should be a limit to your damn skills… it's not even a real race and your kicking my ass!"

"Well, if you can't even pass your driver's test what makes you think you'll do any good in a game?"

"_Because_ it's a game." He retorted hotly, flipping through the car choices.

"The game and real life hold the same principles that _you_ seem to fail at." Elliot explained, making his choice next.

"What are you squirts up to?" A voice questioned from behind the couch. Neither of the two had to turn around to know who it was.

"I thought you were going out with Marsha, Paul?" Smithy asked starting the game.

Paul Jones was Smithy's elder brother and five years older. He was an ex-jock that hadn't put his high school glory days behind him. Not only was he a bit of an ass, but he was pretty stupid too.

Elliot didn't like him much.

"Nah, her girlfriends got tickets to see some damn chick flick." He swung his legs over the couch and plopped down in between the two. Taking a gulp out of a half empty can of beer and belched, eyes staring uninterestedly at the screen. "You beating my brother's ass again?"

"Of course." The brunette stated simply, eyes fixated on the screen.

"Damn Smithy, you fucking suck." The big brother chuckled teasingly.

"Shut up, like your any better."

"Better than you." The young man gloated disrupting the game by pulling Smithy into a headlock.

"Dude what the fuck!" The pour soul groaned angrily, struggling to get free as his car crashed into a sidebar. "Quit it you ass!"

Elliot slid a little further down the couch, he didn't want to associate himself with the two's stupidity. They often started out this way before it became a full out brawl and the last time he'd been too close he walked away with a blackened eye.

Smithy slammed his fist into the elder boy's gut and only succeeded in getting the ex-linebacker angry. The goof took the few seconds he had when Paul let go to escape via vaulting over the couch, but his foot got caught on the back of the chair and he hit the floor face first. He then took too long to get up and gave Paul the chance to dive off the couch and elbow strike him, hard, before grabbing his leg and placing him in a sharpshooter.

"I give! I give!" Smithy pleaded trying to regain air from the first blow.

"That's what I thought pussy." Paul smirked getting off his brother.

Elliot leaned over the couch and glanced at the defeated sibling a glint of amusement in his eyes, "Six to one."

Smithy groaned.

xXx

The music thumped heavily, colorful lights pulsing like secures. No matter how many decorations they put up the school gym didn't look any different in Elliot's eyes.

"You just going to stand here all night?" Smithy asked coming back from his umpteenth time on the dance floor. "What'd you come for, buzzkill?" He joked with a playful smile.

"My mother made me." He explained loosening his tie. The dance was a formal event so his mother had gone out with his attire and bought a full suit—real tie and everything. Her motto was 'you only go to high school once, make it count.' Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

"Well, no use just standing here. Let loose for once." His eyes wandered back to the dance floor, "There's a lot of ladies that seem to be watching you." He snickered winking at a group of young ladies trying to look sexy in skimpy outfits that just miss breaking the dance's dress code.

"You can have them." He didn't feel like dealing with stupid broads that were easy.

"Really?" Smithy's eyes twinkle, it didn't take much effort to distract him when you wanted him to shut up... especially when women were involved. "Well if you say so~" He sang fixing his collar and heading over to the group as smoothly as he could.

Elliot rolled his eyes and slid his hands through his pockets. He wasn't really the partying type, crowds weren't his style. Too many people. Sighing he decided to sneak out the back door while Smithy was preoccupied. He needed some fresh air. It was starting to feel stuffy in there.

As soon as he was outside he felt much better. There was a cool breeze that pasted by and comforted his nerves with sweet whispers. He closed his eyes in satisfaction, maybe he'd stay out here for the rest of the dance. Way from preying eyes of the ladies that Smithy was so willing to court.

A light sniffle brought Elliot out of this thoughts and he opened her eyes to see a girl sitting on the sidewalk curb just a few feet away. Her face was silhouetted but he couldn't help but notice she was rather pretty. She wore a modest red halter and her dark brown hair was tied up, falling over her shoulder in curls like a waterfall. Elliot stared quizzically at her. She didn't seem like the type to stay outside while everyone else partied the night away.

"Hey." He called, he didn't know what possessed him to call out her, but he did.

The girl jumped slightly and whipped around, her blue eyes catching the light of the moon. Squinting, she rubbed at her teary eyes and tried to make out his shadowed figure. "What do you want?"

Elliot paused, what _did_ he want? "You crying?"

Her eyes widen and she turned back around, "No."

"No?" He questioned, stepping a little closer into the light, there he saw the yellow highlights at the ends of her locks. "But you were going to."

"So?" she turned back to look at him and a look of resignation crossed her face. "You're that one guy." Elliot raised an eyebrow, "That hangs out with that guy… Smithy."

He wasn't surprised she knew the goofball, everybody did. If he had to guess his friend had probably hit on her or one of her friends before… It was a wonder how such a extroverted guy could find fun in hanging out with an introvert like himself. "Elliot." He corrected her, he didn't like being called 'that one guy'.

"Oh right…" she pushed a curl out away from her soft features, "I'm Ida. Nice to meet you, I guess."

"…nice to meet you."

xXx

"I didn't know you came here…" Ida hummed, taking a seat on the top of the bench's back.

"Not often." Was Ellitot's reply as he watched the morning crowd walk up and down the boardwalk. "I'm usually busy."

"With what?" she asked fixing the strap on her white bikini top.

"Work."

"What kind?" she questioned, unsatisfied with the vague answer.

"You sure ask a lot of questions…" he stated running hand through his hair.

"Well, you lack a lot of detail." She stated matter-of-factly, leaning on her arms. "You're not answering my question."

"You never answered mine." She gave him a confused look. "You never told me why you were crying—at the dance." He could tell she was still bothered by whatever it was and her frown at his words confirmed it.

Ida turned away slightly and stared at beach behind them, a light wind disturbing the hair resting on her shoulders. "Still on that?"

Elliot didn't answer.

She sighed. "I was ditched by my boyfriend. Long story short, I broke up with him."

"I see." He shifted in his seat, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"No you're not." She smiled knowingly, trying to rid her funky mood.

He shrugged.

"So about that job of yours."

"I'm in the car business. I work for a garage." Elliot explained, leaving out the details. Obviously it was something that shouldn't be talked about casually.

"Cool." She nodded, "So your into cars." It was more of a statement than a question. "Maybe you could tell me about them sometime?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"Yeah." She smiled.

Their moment was interrupted by a vibrating sound and Ida smiled apologetically, pulling out her cellphone. Giving it a glace she pouted a bit, "Looks like I've gotta get going." She explained, standing up and readjusting her jean shorts. "See ya around, k?"

Elliot nodded and gave her a lazy wave. The girl began to walk off but paused and turned back around, planting a kiss on Elliot's cheek. "Something to remember me by." She winked and quickly walked away.

xXx

Ida broke their kiss and smiled at him sweetly, "See you after class?"

Elliot nodded running a hand through her hair, "I'll wait by the gym."

She gave him another light smooch on the check, "Ok." Sadly, somewhere not too far away her name was called and she exhaled disappointly, "I've gotta go. Later." She patted him on the chest and strutted over to meet up with her friends.

Just as she left, Smithy appeared at Elliot's side as he watched her go. "You better be careful with that buddy…" he commented, shaking his head.

The brunette gave him a confused glance.

He elaborated, "I hear she's been going on and off with some guy and in between _that_ she never stays with anyone longer than a few weeks."

Elliot rolled his eyes and began walking door the hall to their usual last period class, "You shouldn't listen to roomers."

Smithy exhaled, "Ok… but don't say I didn't warn you." He then smiled and gave his friend a good nudge, "I'm just glad to see you actually going out with someone… we were all beginning to think you were gay."

His comment was rewarded with a backhand to the stomach, "Shut up."

The goof let out an airless chuckle and grinned, "Just sayin'."

xXx

The date had started off rather well. The two of them had gone out for a movie and a bite to eat. There was a lot of laughing—on her part of course, he wasn't much of a laugher—and the occasional make out session behind a gumball machine or covered in the darkness of the theater, as he was never the public affection type. It wasn't until it was time to leave that things turned for the worse.

On their way out the couple was spotted by Ida's ex-boyfriend who happened to be hanging out in an alleyway with a few buds before some new horror flick was to air. The guy set his friends away and picked fun at the two of them. Elliot, who was never one to just take something lying down, picked back… and the situation escalated until there was no going back.

The ex was the one that threw the first punch. Those walking by didn't bother stepping in, they felt it better to avoid the situation.

"John stop it!"

Ida's voice screeched as Elliot staggered backward, a hand going up to wipe the blood from running down his chin. Having felt worse pain, he laughed. "That all you got?"

"Elliot!" she protested, agitating the situation wouldn't help anything.

John wasn't too big a guy but he was in much better shape than it looked. "This is who you replace me with this time? Fucking pussy can't even take a hit."

The brunette scowled, "We'll see about that." Without warning he rushed at the ex-boyfriend, coming in contact with his midsection and forcing him against the brick wall of the movie theater. He proceeded to repeatedly ram his fist into the teen's ribs while John took a swing at his back.

The ex was able to break free by jamming his knee into Elliot's kidneys. The car thief stumbled away and John advanced, swinging at Elliot's face only for the male to dodge but loose his footing and hit the concrete.

John smirked and knelt down to nail him in the face, but Elliot's boot ended up colliding with his nose and it was his turn to stumble.

The brunette started getting to his feet when Ida made her way in between the two of them. "I said stop it!" Her voice told them she'd had enough.

"Move Ida." John ordered attempting to step around her.

She placed a hand on his chest, "No."

"Ida what are you doing?" Elliot asked standing with a slouch, a hand nursing his side.

"Stopping you both from doing something stupid." She explained glancing back at him before turning back to her ex, "Walk away John, you're just making yourself look like a jackass."

The teen scoffed, fixing his jacket. "Tch. Whatever." His eyes rested on Elliot, "You should know you're just the rebound. The only reason she went out with you was to get back at me. She'll be tired of you eventually." He stated before sending a weary grin at Ida and walking off.

Removing a napkin from her purse, Ida came to Elliot's aid and dabbing at his bloody lip. Her expression was melancholy and guilty—John's words seemed to have struck a chord. She sighed, "You shouldn't have picked a fight with him…"

Elliot didn't reply, he just stared at her. She didn't dare meet his eyes. He tensed, "Is it true?"

"What?" she asked, pausing at her dabbing.

He didn't have to answer, she knew what he meant.

Ida shook her head, but didn't speak. Her eyebrows furrowed and she opened her mouth but the words wouldn't come out. The boy waited patiently and after a few moments she sighed, "It was like that… at first." She admitted slowly, before speaking quicker trying to justify herself, "But it's not like that now. I swear. In my heart I see only you."

Elliot grimaced. He knew it, but that didn't mean it didn't wound him any less. He pushed her hand away and she stared at him frightened, "Elliot." She'd hoped he'd understand.

It was his turn to avoid eye contact. Pushing past her he walked in the opposite direction John left it.

"Elliot!"

He didn't turn back, he just left her there.

* * *

><p><em>Seventeen<em>.

Smithy leaned into the open passenger side window and smiled, a heavy smell of liquor laced in his breath, "Hey man, don't forget. Ten o'clock Paul invited us to a college par-tay~" He slurred raising the roof with his hands.

Elliot snorted amusedly, "That's where we just came from, dumbass."

"Oh." He furrowed his brow and rocked back on his heel. "Damn, I must be trashed as heeeeeell."

"You better sober up before your mom kicks your ass." The brunette warned, resting his arm out the driver's side window.

Smithy brushed the statement off with a flimsy wave of the hand, "Yeah. Yeah." Backing up he gave a two fingered salute, "See ya tomorrow."

"See ya."

Elliot stayed a minute to watch Smithy stumble clumsily up the driveway before driving toward home. A tired sigh escaped his lips as he cruised down the street. The party hadn't left much of an impression on him and most of the night became hazed—a dirty dance and a tongue down his throat were the only pieces of the night he could recall. But unlike Smithy, Elliot hadn't abused a bottle of Vodka on a dare but he had downed a few cups of Blue Point Toxic Sludge and right now he just felt like going to bed.

The quiet late night lulled him and for a moment he almost nodded off as he turned the corner down his street. At that moment something familiar dashed across the front of his car and as he attempted to avoid it there was a faint, "Molly!", a flash of blond, and a screech before something thudded against the front bumper.

The teen's blood ran cold and before he could even think he was ripping his seatbelt and scrambling out of the car. As his eyes fell upon what—or rather who—he'd struck, he felt the world crumble down on his shoulders. There splayed out of the asphalt was a barely breathing and unconscious Benjamin bleeding out before him, a whimpering Molly trying to comfort him on his right.

xXx

Mrs. Stewart sniffed, eyes glossed and irritated, body shaking from raw emotion. Her fingers protectively curled around a limp hand, her gazed never leaving the broken form of her second-born. The steady beeping of the heart monitor and the light up and down motion of his chest was the only evidence that her little boy was still alive.

The concerned Mother paid no heed to the two men that silently left the room or the heavy tension that trailed behind them… and even if she did it wouldn't matter. She had not the will to protest nor the want to listen in on the conversation. She was determined to stay by her son's side until he opened his eyes, she wanted to be there when he woke up—to tell him that everything would be ok and hold him knowing that he'd hug her back. She could see it now, he'd smile at her with that boy-ish charm and assure her that he was fine… even if he wasn't. He'd always looked out for her—for everyone—Benjamin was just that kind of kid.

She smiled sadly and stroked a strand or two of blond hair from the boy's marred face and whispered a desperate, "Please wake up soon…"

She could only hope it got through to him.

Softly, Mr. Stewart shut the door and took a deep breath. With fists clenching her turned to look at his son, who's eyes stared vacantly at the hospital door. "What am I going to do with you?" Despite his attempt at a calm voice, it came out harsh and angry. He gritted his teeth, "Look at me."

Elliot wouldn't.

"I said _look at me_." He ordered, grabbing the boy's collar. Stubborn brown met angry blue. "You must think your grown up don't you?" His grip tightened and he pulled him closer. "Fucking drinking at you age? You're only seventeen!"

It took a moment to realize his father's hands were shaking and a wave of surprise flooded his thoughts. He was sure he had never seen his father so upset, in only a handful of cases had he ever heard him curse, and he'd never been manhandled like this—not from him anyway. Elliot had been sure his father wasn't capable of feeling so strongly about anything, but he supposed it made since. Benjamin was the man's golden boy.

For a second he wondered what his father would do if the roles were switched. What if Benjamin had been the one drinking and driving, would he feel so strongly about the issue then? Elliot couldn't stop himself from doubting it. He'd never shown any compassion for him before, so why would he even in that situation?

"Do you understand what your selfishness has done?" Mr. Stewart let go and pointed to the door, "They say your brother will never be able to walk again."

Elliot closed his eyes and turned his head away. He didn't want to be reminded of his mistake.

"Say something!" The man practically pleaded, he wanted his son to show an emotion to him other than contempt for him for once and for a moment he believed that Elliot did show something. Something in his eyes and in the tightening of his lips, but it was gone before he could decipher it and he doubted if he even saw it at all. He let out a sigh, "I can't deal with you anymore." He rubbed his face in his hands and turned to look through the window at his wife leaning over their son. For a moment a silence past between the two before he spoke again, "I'm thinking of sending you to live with you Uncle in Toronto."

Elliot's eyes widened only a fraction and his mouth parted slightly. He was going to just send him away? Discard him? Like trash? It was his turn to clench his fist. "You can't just—"

"I can." He corrected sharply, turning from the window . "You're not eighteen yet. I still have power over your affairs, I'll do what I want. Maybe you'll think about others the next time you want to do something like this." He muttered lowly and walked back inside the hospital room.

Elliot stayed behind watching his parents care for Benjamin. His mother squeezing his hand, while his father stood at her side giving her shoulders a squeeze. They both held a warm expression of love and of worry… of sadness. It was almost like a picture some painter decided to draw just because he felt like it. He could almost see the brush strokes as the details were added to Benjamin's face, trying to make him look as heartbreaking as possible. The painter would start with his brother and then got to his mother and next his father… he couldn't imagine the artist adding him in though. He wouldn't have fitted.

He didn't have a place in the picture.

And suddenly he agree with his father, he was selfish… because as he stared at three most important people in his life he wished—for only a second—that he was in his brother's place. That those two were caring for him, looking at him, _loving_ him.

And he hated himself for thinking it.


	6. Story 2, Part 2 : Family Ties

**Story 2 – Elliot Stewart**

Part 2

He didn't want to go.

That was the only thing Elliot was sure of at this point as he glanced wearily out the window of the plane.

His mother had protested his father's decision. She accused him of trying to take her only other son away from her. He, of course, reminded her that Benjamin wasn't gone—just sleeping—and she retorted with a "Then why doesn't it feel like it?" His father was able to get her to go along with it in the end, saying that it would be good for him and assured her that his brother—Elliot's uncle—would be able to teach him something… but still… she was reluctant to agree.

It was his mother that drove him to the airport. His father had to work—again—and despite her pestering he had told her that he couldn't find time to take off, Benjamin's medical bills had to be taken care of. Elliot hadn't been bothered by it, his father never found time for him before and he'd rather it have just been his mother anyway. He was always much closer to her.

She had, however, caused a scene in the terminal. With a flood of tears pouring out of her eyes, she shouted for him to keep it touch and remember to wear clean underwear as he headed up to the plane. Not to mention the bone crushing hug and the assault of kisses just moments before.

It was embarrassing, but Elliot was grateful. She had every right to hate him but she didn't. He knew he didn't deserve her forgiveness, but that didn't mean that he didn't want it. No son wanted to be hated by their mother, he was no different.

That wasn't to say that she didn't talk to him about his actions. The night of the accident, in the emergency room, she'd pulled him aside and away from his father's yelling to confront him about it. Unlike with his father's talk, Elliot had actually shown just how sorry he was and had possibly ended up shedding a tear or two. His mother had a way to get things out of people, especially Elliot.

If he had to guess, it was probably when she saw his tears that she had forgiven him. His mother was easy to forgive and she knew that crying was something that Elliot didn't do easily.

It was five weeks since the accident and Benjamin hadn't woken up. The doctors said that it could be any day now and Elliot really hoped they were right. Though he had some insecurities when it came to how his parents—mostly his father—treated the two of them, Elliot would never have purposely hurt his brother. He knew that Ben looked up to him as a role model and he defiantly didn't mind having the guy around. He loved him. He was his brother after all.

The rumbling of the plane brought Elliot from his thoughts and he watched as the ground became further and further away. Following the direction of the flashing sign and the attendant's polite voice over the intercom, he buckled his seatbelt and did his best to get comfortable in his seat.

As the plane began its take off his stomach sank.

He _really_ didn't want to go.

xXx

Elliot watched the mounds of the suitcases go by on the automated belt in boredom. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there but all of the cases were beginning to look the same. For a moment he let himself believe that perhaps he had the wrong belt and that perhaps his belongs were waiting for him in a different location, but his suspicions diminished when he spotted a familiar blue handle sticking up from behind a cheetah printed bag. Heaving the duffle bag out and onto his shoulder, the brunette followed the flow of traffic onto the escalator and headed into the waiting area.

Supposedly his uncle was to pick him up there. Though he wasn't sure how he'd find the elder man. He had no picture to go on and he hadn't seen him since he was a tike. So of course he had no clear memory of the Canadian. His father's side of the family was always a mystery to him. Truthfully, his uncle was the only one that he sort of knew.

It was a good thing his mother was kind enough to give him some idea of what he was looking for. Apparently he was a younger, laidback, green-eyed version of his father. It was a vague description but it would have to do. The last thing he wanted was to not have a place to stay in a strange environment.

When he hit the bottom of the moving stairs, Elliot pushed past the people lingering in the way as they talked about the flight over and began his search, chocolate orbs scanning over every face that passed in hopes of a spark of recognition. He'd met his uncle as a child, but it had been so long ago that he wasn't sure if he would be able to pick him out of a crowd.

That spark came in the form of a slightly scruffy man scanning the crowd from on top of an armless chair, as the teen made his way over brown met green and the Canadian smiled hopefully before hopping from his aerial view.

The two met in front of a dental advertisement and the elder man sighed in relief. "Please tell me you're Elliot because otherwise I'd feel like a bit of an ass, eh."

The American merely nodded. "Long time no see Uncle Greg."

xXx

Elliot awoke to the gentle shaking of a coarse hand on his shoulder. Groaning, the boy turned, pulling the covers further above his head. He mumbled something that even he couldn't understand himself and buried his face deeper into his pillow.

There was a sigh and the up and at 'em voice of his uncle disrupted his peaceful dreams. "Time to get up kid. We've got somewhere to be."

The brunette answered with a slight shift of his body from under the sheets.

Greg's heavy boots clomped down toward the end of the bed and Elliot was given the gift of a draft as the cloth separating him from the morning chill was ripped away. Furrowing his eyebrows, the teen frowned and opened his eyes to send the man a glare.

His uncle merely smiled, "Get up and get dressed."

Tired brown orbs watched as the scraggily male strolled out of the room and a groan escaped the boy's lips. Sitting up, he let out a sigh of his own and hunched over crossed legs, a hand going up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Two weeks he'd lived with his uncle and he still wasn't used to the early wake-up. Back in Florida he was able to sleep wherever, whenever, and as long as he liked (excluding work hours of course). It wasn't until his second day in Canada that he realized just how spoiled he had been.

Uncle Gregory was both a freelance writer and a photographer for the local paper. He didn't have much of anything but the essentials and his fridge was always less than full. All his clothes looked as if they'd come from goodwill—or whatever the Canadian version of that was.

It was strange.

Why had the man, who had very little for even himself, agree to housing his brother's troublemaker son? Elliot didn't understand.

The smell of frying beacon brought the teen from his thoughts and he slid himself off the wooden floor. Within minutes he was changed, a pair of clean socks keeping his feet warm as he headed down the hall of the small rented home.

He found Greg in the kitchen sporting an apron as he flipped an omelet. The man offered a smile as the teen walked through the door and his light Canadian accent filled the room, "Morn' sleepy head."

"Morning." Elliot replied curtly and took a piece of beacon off the plate on the table as he took a seat.

One good thing about his uncle was that the man was a better cook than his mother. He wasn't the best and some of the things he made came from the frozen food section of the super market, but it was still nice to have someone who at least sort of knew what they were doing cooking for him.

The toaster popped up and Greg set down his frying pan. Scooping up the brunette's plate he quickly dropped a few eggos on it and handed the dish back to Elliot before popping a few more in the toaster for himself. The boy began to eat and glanced at the man's back with slight interest, "Where exactly are we 'supposed to be'?" He questioned, referring back to the adult's wakeup call.

Gregory took the omelet out of the skillet and split it down the middle. Sliding half onto the teen's plate his smile widened, "Someone would like to see you."

"Who?"

"Family." The man stated simply, placing his own breakfast down on a plate as he turned off the stove.

Elliot's eyebrow raised slightly. He hadn't been aware of other family living in Canada. His father never felt the need to share any information about his side of the family. Uncle Gregory had been the only person he'd met from his father's side, and even that encounter had only occurred a few times when he was much younger.

The rest of breakfast was pretty silent, though it wasn't in an uncomfortable way. Elliot preferred not to have much conversation, especially in the morning, and his uncle seemed to respect that despite his talkative nature. They finished their meal at moderately the same time and minutes after they were out the door and on the road.

It took only about a quarter of an hour to get to their destination. At least Elliot guessed it was, he'd fallen asleep after about five minutes. The jostling of Greg's Ford on a stoney driveway was what woke him.

"We're here." His uncle announced as they pulled up to a Georgian styled home that looked as if it'd seen better days. With its chipped paint and creaky porch it was a place that people would probably try to avoid living in. However, there was some charm in it too. A small well-kept garden of yellow flowers lined the porch steps and an inviting swinging bench sat near the window.

Greg parked his car behind what looked like an old Chevy pickup and cut the engine with a sigh. "I should warn you, the woman is a bit senile."

Elliot shifted, letting out a sigh of his own. It was just what he need early in the morning… crazy old people.

Stepping out of the car, the brunette followed his uncle up the porch. They stopped momentarily so Greg could unlock the front door. As the two entered they were hit with the pleasant scent of cinnamon. "Aunt Fey?" Greg called down the foyer as he glanced into each room only to find it empty.

After passing by a rustic sitting room and an old wooden study, they entered a kitchen brightened by the French doors and big windows. The natural sunlight made the room seem much brighter that the rest of the house. In the window still there sat a plate of cinnamon rolls cooling off in the fall breeze.

Elliot was the first to notice the figure slumped over a row of petunias, shovel in hand. He made a gesture in her direction and Greg made his over, the teen following close behind.

"Aunt Fey." Greg called lightly, opening the French doors.

The old woman looked up and a bright smile crossed her wrinkled features. "Gregy!" Dropping her shovel she got up from her crouched position and hugged him tightly. Strands of silver hair from her bun fell into her face as she pulled away and her green eyes fell curiously on Elliot. "Who's this?"

'Gregy's placed a hand on her back, "This is one of Michael's boys, Elliot. Elliot, this is your Great Aunt Fey."

A mask of surprise found its way onto Fey's face and she brought a hand to her mouth, "Michael's boy?" he lip quivered into a smile and she pulled him into a crushing bear hug. Elliot tensed under the physical contact but the woman didn't seem to notice his discomfort so he awkwardly patted her back.

After a moment she pulled back, the smile never leaving her face. "What a surprise."

"Elliot's staying in Toronto for a while." Greg explained ushering the two back inside and out of the cold.

"Really?" She beamed. "Good. That gives us some time to get to know each other."

The brunette held in a sigh. He'd really rather not.

"Oh!" Fey exclaimed as if she just remembered something she hadn't meant to forget. "Greg. Tell Megan I tried that recipe she gave me. It was amazing."

Elliot wasn't sure who this Megan was but he could see the mention of the name had a negative effect on his uncle. For a moment he looked almost as if he were in pain, but quickly masked it before Fey noticed. "Yeah. I'll tell her."

"Now Elliot." The old woman said, grabbing the boy's attention. "Would you like a cinnamon roll?"

The teen shrugged, "Sure."

xXx

Re-grasping the hilt of the axe Elliot raised it up and swung it down, splitting a piece of wood off center. He exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow despite the fact that it was rather cold outside. Fey and Greg had been putting the poor boy to work. In the last few weeks he'd cut grass, painted shutters, wiped windows—the list went on. Aunt Fey's old house was beginning to look much better thanks to his hard work and though it annoyed him to be made to do anything he had to admit there was satisfaction that rose from seeing the finished product of a project come together.

At the moment he was chopping wood, one of his favorite jobs. Fey's house didn't really have a heating system and the woman preferred the warmth of the fireplace anyway, but she wasn't as fit as she once was and her old bones couldn't chop like they used to, so what was once Greg's job was passed off to himself. The older man had now taken on the job of keeping Fey company, helping her bake for church events, and helping Elliot out from time to time when he didn't have work.

"That should be enough for a while, Erin." Fey called from the front porch and the boy nodded tossing the last of the fire wood in its designated place.

Rubbing his sore hands together he headed up the porch, "It's Elliot, Aunt Fey." He corrected lowly. He knew she didn't mean anything by the mix-up. Her memory seemed to be going down the toilet every day and it was a bit sad to watch. "Do you need anything else done?"

Usually he wasn't much of a helpful soul, nor did he pay attention to social manners, but his aunt had grown on him. Her memory was fading on her and it was getting harder for her to move around the house but she was probably one of the kindest people he'd ever known and it made it hard to be his uncaring aloof self around her.

The old woman smiled, "Well, I've got plenty but I can tell you're tired. So, how about I send you to the store for a few things and when you get back we'll watch a movie, eh? Grey won't be back for at least another hour, he's at some sort of meeting."

Elliot nodded, "I can do that."

"Wonderful, I'll go write down what I need. It'll only take a minute."

He watched as she hobbled back into the house on her good leg and planted himself on the bench to rest for a bit. Closing his eyes he swung absently. A few months ago he hadn't thought he'd find himself out in Canada chopping wood. Strangely, though, he didn't mind it as much as he thought he would. Of course he missed Smithy, his mother, and... well… Ben… but it was nice to live in an environment where his father wasn't yelling at him. Perhaps the man had actually done something right for once in exiling him here. Maybe… this was good for him.

The sound of Aunt Fey's flats scrapping against the floor boards brought him out of his thoughts and he stood up meeting her by the door. "Here you go." She sang, handing him her list and a few Canadian dollars. "There should be enough for you to get something if you'd like, eh." She explained and dropped her keys into his hand. "You can take the pick-up, it may be old but it's faster than walking."

Elliot nodded and began walking toward the vehicle, "I'll be back."

The old woman waved alight 'be careful' and he gave a lazy wave back as he pulled out of the bumpy driveway.

It only took a few minutes to get to the small convenience store. He had been there once before but hadn't been quite sure if he remembered the way.

Not many cars were parked outside considering the time of day so it was easy to find a parking spot but that also meant that the clerk would pay much more attention to him today. He was an older guy, probably in his forties, and for some reason he loved to make small talk—much like a lot of people around these parts. It didn't help that because his customers were mostly frequent visitors he pretty knew everyone that went in and so he felt the need to know Elliot, who was new to his store and also the nephew of two his favorite customers.

As he stepped into the shop he was immediately greeted just as he had expected. "Ey! It's the Américain!"

"…Hey Mr. Simon." Elliot sighed.

"Let me know if you still need help finding something." The man prompted as he rang up a customer, his French accent dripping off the tongue.

The boy merely nodded and disappeared into the isles after grabbing a basket. Scanning down the list he picked up the items with much ease. For the most part he pretty much remembered were everything was as if not then it wasn't too hard to find his own. However he hit a bump in the road as he came to the last item on the list. What in the hell was a Boullion?

"It's like a broth." A voiced explained from his right and Elliot raised a brow at a short girl with black hair glancing over his shoulder. Had he spoken out loud? She looked up at him and he noticed her hazel eyes were strange, speckled with shades of blue and green. She nodded her head down the aisle, "Top shelf, down that way."

"…Thanks." He squeezed out.

She winked, "No problem."

The Boullion turned out to be just were the girl had said it was. Tossing it into the basket he headed off toward the counter, stopping briefly to pick up something called a Nainamo Bar. Greg ate them all the time and he'd wondered what it tasted like. Afterward, he got in line behind the short girl from before.

Upon seeing him, Mr. Simon brought him into the conversation. "Oi, Américain. Did you find everything ?"

Elliot nodded, "Yeah."

"You know he's Greg and Fey's nephew." The clerk commented to the girl.

She hummed in interest, "Oh?" and something flashed across her face that neither of the men quite caught. "And how_ is_ Greg?"

"Well." The young man stated, not how else to elaborate.

She nodded to herself and silently paid for her things.

"Have a good one,_ma fifille_." Mr. Simon told her.

She nodded, "You too." The girl gathered her things and began to leave, but turned back a moment and addressed Elliot. "See you around." The boy replied with the slight incline of his head and then she left.

He placed his basket down on the counter and the French clerk began to ring up his things. "Do you know her?" The elder man wondered.

Elliot shook his head, "No."

Mr. Simon tilted his head, "Really? I thought you would… but I guess that makes sense. She's been out of town for a while. That's Anya, she used to be Greg's stepdaughter."

The brunette frowned, "That's the first I've heard of her."

The clerk shifted slightly, debating whether or not he must have said too much. Deciding it was best not to give more information he just shrugged, "I wouldn't bring it up."

Elliot frowned, now he was curious.

xXx

It was unusually warm that day… well as warm as Toronto can get so close to the winter season, so Fey decided that inviting her boys over for lunch out on the deck would be a brilliant idea. It'd been a few days since they'd last come over and she was already missing them.

Setting another plate on the table she smiled at her arrangement. They weren't having anything fancy. Just a sandwich or two, some chips, and the Maple Syrup Pie that she made but she still wanted things to look nice. It was probably the perfectionist in her talking.

Just then the doorbell rang and Fey's smile was instantly replaced with a confused frown. Grey and Elliot had a key, so who was it at the door?

Heading back into the house she though the kitchen and trotted down the hall toward the front door. Behind it stood a most unsuspecting visitor and when Fey opened the door she froze, the short black hair and speckled hazel eyes throwing her off guard. "Anya?"

The tiny teen smiled, "Hey Aunt Fey."

The old woman wrapped her arms around the girl and smiled, "Hey dearie. What are you doing here? I thought you hung out with your friends on weekends, eh?"

Anya's smile faltered slightly. Fey's memory must have been acting up on her again. Playing along she nodded, "Yeah but they're busy with stuff so I didn't go over there this weekend. Is Greg around?"

Fey shook her head, "Not yet, but he should be here any minute. We're about to have some lunch."

"Oh, I could just come back another time then."

"No, no, no." She chuckled, "Join us. I'm sure no one will mind, we're all family here." Fey started leading the girl in the house before she had a chance to properly answer.

xXx

The silence was unbearable.

What was once supposed to be a nice lunch outside ended up being possibly the worse meal any of them had eaten in a long time. Not because of the food, Fey had made it after all, but because of the unexpected visitor. It wasn't her fault really but the painful quiet was technically because of her presence.

Gregory was pale, sickly so. His mouth was clamped shut and his eyes stayed locked on his barely touched sandwich, thought it was easy to tell his mind was somewhere else. It was unlike him to be this quiet.

The guest herself wasn't doing any better, but at least she could kept an appetite but she, too, didn't look up from her food much except to steal glances in Greg's direction.

Fey was probably the only one that wasn't uncomfortable or even noticed the tense air around the table. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself, trapped in some mental day dream as she often was. Every now and then she would strike a conversation with someone, but it never lasted long.

Elliot on the other hand didn't really mind the quiet, but he was bothered by the awkwardness of the situation. It was obvious that something was going on between his uncle and the young lady, but he just didn't know what… no one had told him anything about it besides that gossiping fool at the convenience store… and even then, it hadn't been much.

It was Fey who broke the silence, her tone and body language seemly oblivious to everyone's uncomforted. "Ah—the pie is probably done cooling. I'll go fetch everyone a bite."

Her comment was answered by a few mutters and nods and as she rose, Elliot rose with her. "I'll help you Aunt Fey."

The old woman smiled, "You're such a good boy, Evan."

The boy sighed as he followed her inside, "Its Elliot."

As the poor boy and senile woman exited the deck, the tension at the lunch table seemed to grow thicker. Taking advantage of their sudden alone time, it was surprising Gregory who spoke. "I didn't know you'd come back to Toronto…"

Anya slowly mulled over the last bite of her sandwich and cast the man an unreadable look, "I've only been here a few weeks…"

He nodded numbly, "Aha."

The small girl shifted in her seat, "Have… you been well?"

"I suppose…" He offered her a light, slightly forced, smile. "And you? How was America?"

"…Strange."

Greg opened his mouth to say something else, but cut himself off as a grinning Fey and tired looking Elliot walked out the kitchen, a slice of pie in each hand.

There wasn't much conversation for the rest of lunch.

xXx

How he had found himself in this situation, he didn't know.

"Well then tell me this!" Anya yelled fiercely, hurt evident in her voice. "Why didn't you let me stay? I pleaded for you to let me stay with you and you ignored me!"

Gregory seemed equally as frustrated, "I had no right!"

"You had every right! You were more of a father than he ever was to me!" Her reds were red now, trying to hold back the water daring to spill over.

"Anya, you have to understand that—" the older man paused in midsentence as he finally noticed the brunette standing unsurely in the open in front door. "Elliot."

"…Sorry." The American stated, actually apologizing for once. It was probably just shock… he hadn't expected to find the short girl in his uncle's apartment.

"No. It's fine." Anya said hotly, "I was just leaving." She cast Greg a hurt look before storming, knocking into Elliot's shoulder by mistake in the process.

"How much did you hear?" His uncle asked, energy obviously drained.

"Enough."

xXx

Greg did his best to ignore the brown orbs burning holes into the back of his head. He knew his nephew wanted answers and knew that he wouldn't stop until he got them. Elliot wasn't usually interested in other people's affairs, but on the rare occasions when he did, he usually didn't stop until he was satisfied with the information.

As much as he loved the fact that his dear nephew was taking an interest in something, he rather him not pry into this particular dent in his life.

He would probably think less of him if he knew about it.—The worst mistake he'd ever made.

"Uncle." The young lad called from his spot under the door frame.

Greg sighed, "…yes?" When he didn't answer, the man looked up and cringed under his pointed look. "Look… now's not really a good time to—"

"Something tells me it will never be a good time." Elliot pushed off the doorframe and walked further into the room. "What was with all that… and why are you so… distressed…? You're not your usual annoying self."

He cracked a weak smile at the light insult and stared down at his hands. For a young guy, Elliot was actually pretty smart… and Gregory knew he was right. He had held off taking about it for years, there would never be a time when he'd actually want to let it all out. He glanced up at the boy and front of him and silently chuckled to himself. The two of them were more alike than the boy knew… that was probably why his brother sent him to Canada.

He let out another sigh. Maybe… if anyone… it would be fine to talk to his nephew. Leaning back in his chair, Greg let all his guilt rest of his features and closed his eyes tight. "Um… Do you remember all those times that Aunt Fey mentioned a woman named Megan?" His question received a nod. "You were probably too young to remember… after all you met her only once… but she used to be your aunt. She…" he swallowed running a hand through his hair, "umm… she was my wife. Anya was her daughter from a previous marriage. Megan had full custody and didn't want her daughter seeing her father… so I kinda took over the daddy role. They were both really great… I loved them a lot. They were my family, ya know? But… um…."

His voice became shaky and more upset, "A few years ago… we were driving home from Aunt Fey's house and we were all really tried… _I_ was really tired… and… umm" a tear escaped his eye and he wiped it away quickly, "I dozed, it felt like a second, just for one _second_… and the car, I guess, passed over into the next lane. We were front-ended by an Trunk at full speed." Greg explained pounding his fist into his palm. "Anya was fine, thank god… and I ended up with a concussion and a broken leg… but… Megan, who had taken most of the hit, died in the hospital bed a few hours after the crash." He paused a minute to gather his bearings and rubbed his face, "After that there was a custody battle for Anya. Her father was a ex-con but by that time he'd started straightening up his life and he wanted Anya to go live with him in America… which is where she was from originally. Of course, Anya didn't want to. She'd been so young when her father had gone to jail… he was just a stranger to her. She… uh… wanted to stay with me, but I let her go." He pressed his thumbs together, "I couldn't—don't—understand why she'd want to stay with me. It's my fault. I _killed_ her mother."

Elliot stayed silent through the whole explanation. He soaked up every piece of information and processed everything carefully. When his uncle finished he exhaled, a hand going to lazily scratch his head. "There's something _I_ don't get." He admitted, earning him a curious glance from the distraught man. "Anya was able to see it wasn't intentional…. She doesn't blame you, right? So why do you still blame yourself?"

With that the American left, letting his words hang in the air for the male to ponder on.

* * *

><p><em>Eighteen<em>.

"Greg told me what happened." A faint Canadian accent commented, from above the sound of a splintering engine.

Elliot didn't acknowledge it. Hopping out of Fey's old truck for the umpteenth time, he stuck his head back under the hood.

The annoyance, however, pushed on. "You going to let that stop you from driving over the speed limit ever again? I heard you were pretty badass behind the wheel."

The male tensed. "Who told you that?" He asked, though it was more of a demand of information then a question.

Anya merely smiled, "I have my ways…" Pursing her lips, she walked backward a bit, scuffing her boots against the driveway. "I wanna take you somewhere."

Closing the hood, Elliot glared curiously in her direction. "Where?"

"It's a surprise." She hummed, turning on her heel. "Coming?"

Against his better judgment, he followed.

xXx

The drive to where ever the hell the woman was taking him didn't last too long. Neither of them spoke to each other, Elliot because he didn't feel the need to and Anya because she knew he wasn't the conversational type.

It was a little before sun down by the time they reached their destination and Elliot wasn't feeling any better about deciding to follow the woman on her weird adventure. She'd taken him to a rougher part of Toronto, though Canada did a better job about not letting their cities go to ruin there were still parts of cities that were dangerously close to being compared to the slums. Luckily, this part of the city wasn't too bad, at least not as bad as the ghettos back in the US he'd been in.

They both stepped out of the car and Anya lead him through a thin alleyway which lead to an old parking lot. They crossed the vacant asphalt and stopped at an old garage door, a few pieces of graffiti covering it. Anya looked over her shoulder to give him a little grin before grabbing the bottom of the door and pushing it up to reveal the inside of a homemade workshop.

All noise in the place seemed to stop abruptly at the sight of Anya and her guest. From what Elliot could see there were three people within the vicinity. From under a custom Honda slid out an Asian man with a slightly big build, who stared curiously in their direction. He was on the pale side and was much taller than his genes should have allowed him to be.

Next to catch his attention was a woman lounging on top of the hood of said Honda, her skin was dark and her long black hair stayed braided neatly down her back. If he had to guess he'd say she was Indian, but that wasn't the surprising part. She was blind. The pale white eyes gave that away.

However, the most interesting character was the white guy that strutted up to them the moment they stepped into the room. By the way he carried himself one could tell that he was the one in charge. He was a bit shorter than Elliot, but he looked a little older. His hair was dark in color and spiked, the tips high lightened in was looked like a deep red.

He nodded to Anya, "This 'im?"

She smiled, "In the flesh."

At that point all eyes turned on to Elliot, who for the first time bit back a wave of uneasiness.

He didn't like the way they were looking at him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Ok, firstly… I'm sorry for not updating for so long!

The last weeks of school were hectic and though I wrote for this, I didn't get too far until all that stuff was over. Then I went into lazy mode for a few (the start of summer vacation tends to do that to me). However, do NOT worry. I will finish this. I love these guys too much to spot now.

I should also say this: Don't worry about trying to find out who's who yet. It'll be explained a bit later.

And for those of you that read and/or reviewed: You guys rock. I was so happy when I found a S/S category here of Fanfic, but when I saw the lack of actual fanfics I knew I had to contribute. I hope you guys continue to read in the future!


	7. Story 2, Part 3 : Home is in the Heart

**Story 2 – Eliot Stewart**

Part 3

_Twenty_.

"Well?" An almost smug looking brunette glared, slender hand out stretched, the wrinkle-less black jacket resting on his shoulders not moving an inch.

"You… You're serious?" The man's grip around his keys tightened, mouth contorted into a sneer, knuckles turning white.

"A bet is a bet." One of the four others in the smug man's group cooed, playfully.

"But… I have no other way to get home."

The brunette's annoyance seemed to deepen, "You should have thought about that beforehand." A rather tall and quiet Asian man stepped next to him, looking quite menacing. "Now, hand it over."

Squeezing the keys tighter until they dug into his skin, the male looked from the brunette to the Asian and back again. Raising his hand, he threw the key to his car into the man's hand with as much force as he could muster and stomped off.

The brunette merely stared at the key and offered an amused "Pleasure doing business with you" toward the retreating back of the angry soul.

"…Elliot, I don't think it's a good idea to aggravate the situation even more…" The blind Native American of the group advised, falling into step with everyone as they headed over to take a gander at the brunette's win.

"…Hm." He offered as a reply, eyes looking over his new car.

"So what do you plan to do with this, eh?" questioned the shorter male with the gravity defying hair.

Elliot snorted, "What I always do. Use the parts I like and sell the rest…" He quirked a brow. "What? Did you have your eye on it, Tony?"

It was Tony's turn to snort, "Don't be ridiculous, what would I need off this piece of junk? I bet Chelly's tires cost more than this thing's engine."

Which was true… probably. Despite living in that rundown neighborhood, Tony was actually from a well off family. He'd moved there to prove a point to his family and ended up staying even after he'd made up with them. Apparently the place had grown on him. Since Tony was actually really good with computers, despite being a bone head any other time, he did stuff for his father's company and was paid for it in return. As a result, while the outside of the garage was graffitied and grimy, the inside was anything but.

Ignoring him, the American turned to the large Asian man. "Hiro, feel like driving this back?" He was answered with a nod and tossed the keys over.

"I'll rid with him." The blind woman offered, letting Hiro help her into the passenger seat.

"Alright Iya, then I'll hitch a ride with Tony, since my dear cousin over there doesn't seem to like company." Anya teased, giving a playful grin as she headed over to Chelly.

"Step Cousin…. Ex – Step Cousin…." Elliot corrected her. She rolled her eyes.

"Ey, Elliot. Hiro." Tony smirked, nodding in their direction. "How about last one home treats everyone to some Chinese?"

The three exchanged glances. Elliot grunted smugly, Tony grinned, and Hiro raised an amused brow.

They stepped into their vehicles, and were off.

xXx

"Tony!" Anya growled, slamming the garage's side door. It was obvious through her voice that she was furious about something… Despite what others who didn't know her too well thought, Anya may have seemed cool and mature but really she was like a big kid that got angered easily. Really though, only a few people could get her extremely riffled up… and one of those people just happened to be Tony.

Said man tensed in his spot on the couch next to Hiro and seemed to shrink slightly. "…Yeah, Babe?" Only his cousin could make that over confident bighead lose his edge.

"Get your butt down here."

"Coming…"

"_Now_."

Tony let out a sigh and grumbled a few things under his breath as he got up. Elliot watched from his spot on the other side of Hiro as the male headed down stairs of the loft and into the garage. Turning back to the textbook in his lap, he caught Iya shaking her head from her usual spot on the floor leaning against Hiro's leg as she listened to the television.

Then the arguing began.

Elliot's eye twitched. Honestly, how was he supposed to read in these conditions? "What are they fighting about this time…?"

"The usual… probably…" Hiro answered calmly, not seeming to be affected by the loud commotion going on down stairs.

Elliot snorted. He didn't really get why those two were together. Relationships like that seemed troublesome. Now, Iya and Hiro he could understand… Their mellow demeanors just seemed to fit. Tony and Anya were like oil and water. He wouldn't want to be in a relationship like that. Too exhausting.

Down stairs there was a slam of the side door again. "Where are you going?!" Tony questioned following her out with another slam of the door.

The three left inside relaxed and let a nice silence settle in the room, the tv making the only sound.

* * *

><p><em>Twenty – Two<em>.

"No… _way_." Anya commented, trying to keep herself from freaking out.

"Shhh." Iya shushed, frown deepening. "Does that means it says….?"

"Mhm." Anya said a bit quieter and watched as the blind Native American sat on the edge of the tub. "What… are you going to do?"

"I don't know." She admitted, fiddling with her fingers worriedly.

The ravenette took a seat next to her. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Well, I have to."

Anya nodded, "Well that's true." She offered the girl an encouraging smile, "Don't worry everything is going to be fine."

"I hope so…"

xXx

"Ugh! Guys. Hurry up! By the time you're finished we'll have missed the fireworks and everything!" Anya grumbled, clapping her hands impatiently. Tony and Hiro exchanged tired looks. Where'd she get this energy from?

Her comment was an exaggeration of course… everyone else had wanted to go out a little later, but she'd insisted they had to see the _whole_ festival. She also wasn't one to wait very long and honestly Tony wasn't any better… or at least he wouldn't have been… if it wasn't so damn early.

Tony, Anya, and Hiro were already ready to go. They were just waiting on Elliot, who'd slept in late… again, and Iya, who was actually usually one of the first ones ready. It was taking those two _forever_. Didn't they know how long it takes to get from Toronto to Parliament Hill? Four hours! Not including traffic. They should have left a half an hour ago.

"…You're so loud…" Elliot muttered tiredly, coming down the loft steps, scratching the back of his head as he yawned.

His dear cousin huffed. "Well then, get up when I tell you to!" Her eyes went back to her wrist watch, other hand going to her hip. "Where's Iya?"

"Bathroom." The American answered, slumping against the wall next to Hiro.

"Oh! That reminds me! Did everyone take a potty break?"

The boys gave her stares.

"What?" She scoffed, other hand going to her hip as she leaned forward slightly. "I'm serious. We're not going to be stopping!"

Anya was still getting stares as a slightly sickly looking Iya came down. "Sorry." She apologized, tending to a headache as discreetly as possible.

Hiro went over to her and placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. He spoke a soft, "Are you alright?" to which he was given a delicate nod and skillfully forced smile.

Iya and Anya exchanged a look. Elliot was the only one who caught it.

Seeing everyone present, Anya flapped her arms impatiently toward her vehicle. "Come on. Come on. Let's get going. We're already late." She shoved the closest bodies, Elliot and Tony, toward her Jeep Wrangler. Both of which either growled or grumbled at the contact.

After piling into Anya's car—since she was the only one up for driving for four hours—the gang set out for parliament hill.

In the end, despite all her talk, it was Anya's fault they ended up taking a few stops on the way. First, she'd been thirsty and had bought a ridiculously large slushy due to that fact that "it was only a few cents more", then thirty minutes later she needed to stop to peed because of said slushy. Elliot had felt the need to point out how much of a hypocrite she was which resulted in an argument that got the girl so riffled up Tony had to quickly grab the wheel while she lectured her dear cousin. The delays continued when poor Iya wasn't feeling well which Anya seemed to all to quickly chalk up to car sickness. Which Elliot believed to be a load of bull, but this time he didn't voice his thoughts.

Some point after about the fourth or fifth time that they stopped, this time for gas, Elliot tuned out the voices in the car and fell into a deep sleep. He didn't wake up until Anya opened up the car door he'd been using as a head rest. Cranium snapping up before it fell fully forward, Elliot glared at her grinning mouth and speckled eyes.

"We're here. Get up!" She ordered, unbuckling his seatbelt as if he were a child and pulling him out of the car.

Apparently because he had never celebrated Canada day, Anya felt it was her duty to give him the full experience. One would say she had an extremely unnecessary love for Canada, for a technical American—well, for anyone really. Then again, Elliot was never one for patriotism of any kind. Whether it be Canada day or Fourth of July.

Rubbing a sore neck, Elliot followed behind the strange group he'd come to know with a sight grimace as he noticed the other hundreds of cars parked near the hill. He hated crowds, especially massively amped up ones. Elliot had a strong urge to go back into the car and curl up in the backseat for a nap, but he knew Anya would object to that and she was the one holding the keys.

The closer the quintet got to the hill, the stronger the stench of country pride seemed to get. People had their body parts painted in red and white and wore Canadian themed garments. In fact, everyone in his own group had some kind of symbol of the country on them. Tony and Hiro had matching t-shirts with the maple leaf on the front, Iya had on a white shirt with a red skirt and a maple leaf charm bracelet, and Anya's outfit was honestly ridiculous… He'd never seen so much red and white on a person before… not to mention maple leaves.

He realized he probably looked a bit out of place in his blue tee and black slacks.

Shouts like "Viva la Canada!" and howls could be heard from groups of men who were just a little bit too tipsy, which of course Anya replied with her own hoop and holler. Elliot decided he'd keep an eye out for a nice looking tree he could sit under before he developed the splitting headache he felt coming on.

"What's with the scowl?" Anya complained, looking over the arm Tony had draped over her shoulder. "Come on this is going to be fun, _smile_ for once in your life."

"I don't see the fun in this." _It's too crowded_, he added mentally.

"It's not that bad…" Tony commented, "It's easier just to get caught up in the celebration that to fight it." He added, sending the American a playful smirk, knowing full well Elliot was more likely to eat a pile of hay then act merry.

"Hn," was the brunette's reply.

A few minutes later the gang was sitting down at a recently cleared picnic table as Anya looked over the program.

"So… We missed the Carillion Concert, Flag Raising Ceremony, _and_ Changing of the Guard Ceremony… but the noon show is starting soon, so we should hurry up to go and catch that… and then we could head to the Annual Chicken Barbeque at Major's Hill, there's always something good to eat there and I'm sure everyone's hungry right?"

"As long as we get to stop by Jacques-Cartier Park at some point, I don't really care what we do…" Tony commented laying his head on crossed arms. Despite his personality, the slightly short man liked to play soccer with some of the kids. It was something he used to do as a kid… back then the man didn't get to be a kid often as so it was a fond memory, apparently.

"It sounds like a plan." Iya confirmed and Hiro nodded in agreement.

Elliot just stared off boredly, not paying much attention.

"Elliot." Anya frowned, "Sound good?"

She was ignored.

She didn't like being ignored.

Closing her program, the American-Canadian stood up and stomped over to her cousin. "That's it, get up, I'm going to make you have a good time even if it kills me."

"Shall I prepare a coffi—" Elliot's smartass retort was cut off as he choked, getting pulled away from the table by the collar. He grunted in protest, bending forward a bit so that she wouldn't strangle him with his own shirt.

Aya ignored him this time.

The others followed behind at a slight distance.

A few hours later and Anya was giving Elliot a creepy wide grin as they sat on the shuttle back to Major Hill for the umpteenth time…. It was a good thing that the rides were free on Canada Day.

"What?" He glared, his face contorting into the expression one gets when they've got a bad taste in their mouth.

"You're having fun right ~ ?"

"No." He answered immediately and turned away from her, pulling the rim of the red and white cap she'd made him wear.

Her grin faltered. "Liar." She humphed and copied his action. Even though he wouldn't admit it, Anya knew he had to be enjoying himself. She'd seen that ghost of a smile he'd had when Tony got hit in the face with an airborne soccer ball. Well, she had one more thing up her sleeve, probably the best thing of the whole event. If he didn't admit to liking that then he was just impossible. Her grin returned.

When the shuttle stopped, Anya sped off it like a child who'd just woken up to snow on Christmas. The others barely kept sight of her as she weaved through the gathering crowd, stopping every so often to tap her foot and shout "Come on!" repeatedly to the slowpokes following behind her.

By the time she'd halted long enough for them to catch up, they'd gone away from where a crowd was gathering into a more quieter part of Major Hill. It was hard to see around in the dark.

"Why here?" Tony asked, brows furrowing. The other times, when it'd just been a quartet, they'd visited parliament hill and never picked this spot.

"Less people, better view." Anya explained, plopping down on the grass. "Aunt Fey told me about it."

Hiro took a moment to glance down at his watch. "It's going to start soon…" He told them softly and took a seat on the grass with Iya, who leaned on him.

Tony got comfortable and laid his head down on Anya's lap.

Elliot opted to sit against a nearby tree.

A few moments of silence passed between them before the first stream of light entered the sky and burst with color, followed by more and more, each bursting into different shapes before disappearing like dust.

"Was today any fun, seriously?" Anya asked her cousin curiously in a light voice as she glanced in his direction.

He didn't answer right away though, choosing to keep his eyes up to the sky. Turning back to the fireworks, she almost gave a dejected sigh until she heard, "Today… wasn't that bad…"

Anya looked back at him in surprise to find him looking at her with an almost sincere look.

She smiled.

xXx

"What's this?" Tony called walking out of the bathroom, face going a bit pale. In his hand was a white stick, the screen reading '+'.

Elliot and Hiro paused in working on taking apart an impressive looking Buick that the American had won from his latest bet.

The three men stood in silence for a moment, until Elliot uttered an "I wouldn't touch that part…"

Frowning in realization, Tony tossed the stick into the trash and went to wash his hands. "Does this mean that one of them is…?" He questioned over the sound of running water.

"It's not 100 percent. Those things are wrong sometimes…" Elliot answered and shot a curious glance at a paler than usual Hiro.

Tony came back into view and started pacing. "Why haven't they said anything?"

"Waiting for the right time?" Elliot offered as an explanation and sat down on a nearby stool in slight disinterest. It wasn't like he hand anything to worry about after all.

"I… think we should wait until they decide to tell us…" Hiro stated maturely, finally snapping out of his inner thoughts.

"Like hell! I want to know _now_." The shorter man stated in obvious frustration, "I can't be a daddy."

Elliot snorted. The girls had gone out for the day so it wasn't like he'd get to know right away… Since he doubted they'd want to talk about something like that over the phone.

Annoyed with Tony's pacing and worrying, Elliot excused himself and let the autumn breeze hit him as he headed outside. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the building and took in the silence. This part of town was pretty barren around this time, except for the occasional car or passerby.

The quiet, however, was broken by the sound of his cellphone ringing impatiently. With a sigh, Elliot reached into his pocket and pulled it out. Accepting the call, he greeted with a halfassed "Hello?"

"Hello…?" The caller echoed, seeming a little unsure.

His eyes widened a small fraction in surprise. "…Mother…?"

"Oh! Elliot? Wow. You sound different."

"How'd you get this number?"

She chuckled into the receiver. "Your Uncle, of course." Elliot frowned at this piece of information. He had specifically told that man not to give it to her… He knew she'd been calling frequently now. "You're terrible, you know that? After you moved out of your Greg's apartment it's been difficult to get in touch with you! To think that all this time you had a cellphone."

"I haven't had it for that long… I would have given you my number eventually…" He told her.

"Mhm." She humphed, unconvinced.

xXx

"Oh, what a nice surprise. Good morning, Charlie." The old woman cooed from her spot in her rather comfy floral printed chair. Placing a good mark on the page she'd left off in her book, she closed it and gave her visitor full attention.

"It's Elliot, Aunt Fey, and it's nearly seven in the evening." The young man sighed, kneeling down to the side of her chair. "Uncle Gregory wanted me to check on you… He'll be back late. Do you need anything?"

The woman let out a sigh of her own. "I've told Greggy many times that I don't need a babysitter. Honestly. He didn't have to move in with me…" She shook her head in disapproval and set her novel down on a side table. "How are you dearly? How's living with Anya and her friends?"

"Fine," was all he said, the same answer he always gave. He never elaborated much. "Do you need anything?" He repeated, she hadn't answered the first time.

"Oh, water would be nice." Fey told him and wrapped her shawl around he shoulders a bit tighter.

Nodding, Elliot stood up and headed out of the room. Somehow, he'd grown accustomed to taking care of his great aunt. The only other ones that Fey had to rely on were him, Gregory, and Anya. He was used to being depended on, so the feeling wasn't anything new and though he probably wouldn't ever admit it, the old bat had grown on him.

It was a shame though. Aunt Fey's memory was dwindling every day. He was used to her saying his name wrong… but now she wasn't even thinking in the 'E' range anymore and usually the names varied, but lately it's just been "Charlie". It was getting dangerous to leave her by herself anymore, because she'd often forget what day it was or what she'd been doing just moments before… and since Aunt Fey was a cooker she may forget about a pie or turkey she'd left in the oven and the last thing anyone needed was a fire burning down the house.

Heading into the kitchen, Elliot grabbed a glass and dropped a few ice cubes in it before filling it up. He couldn't help but wonder how long it'd be for his aunt's memory got too bad. Soon she'd have to be placed somewhere that she could be watched around the clock. Medicine wouldn't help her.

With glass in hand, the American made his way back into the sitting area where he found Aunt Fey sitting in the same place where he'd left her, nose back in her book. At the sound of his footsteps the woman looked up and flashed him a smile, "Oh, what a nice surprise. Good morning, Charlie."

Setting the cup down on the side table, Elliot sighed closing his eyes. "Good morning."

Perhaps it would be best to just go with it.

xXx

"Race me, Stewart." A bald man ordered, stepping out of a black jaguar. The man looked new and slightly out of place in extremely formal attire.

Elliot merely blinked at him, pausing in his conversation with Iya. He was a bit grateful for it though, for some reason the woman had wanted to know his opinion for baby names and for some reason she'd waited until they'd gone to a car rally to ask. Hn. Women.

Sighing, the American ran a hand through his hair boredly. "Name your price."

The man snorted, "What do you want?"

Honestly, what was it with people? Couldn't they just put up something themselves? He could care less what it was he won… just as long as he won.

Brown eyes flickered over to the black jag behind baldy. It seemed in good enough condition… it's parts could probably sell for a good price. "Fine. Your car then."

"My car?"

Elliot resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was common for either money or cars to be put up in a rally bet, no? "Your car." He echoed, not really liking the fact he had to repeat himself. "I'll put up mine to. That's more than fair."

The man glanced at Elliot's ride trying to mull things over. He nodded, finally, and stuck out his hand. "Alright, not like I'm planning on loosing anyway."

The American's eyes shone deviously, "Well, that's a problem because I don't plan to either." He replied, taking the man's hand.

Iya ended up being starter. Usually Anya did it for Elliot's races, but the woman was off with Tony at some dinner event his father made him go to. He wasn't too sure about how Hiro would feel about that. The Asian man had to work tonight so Elliot was put in charge of 'babysitting' Iya for him. After finding out about the pregnancy the man was way more protective of her.

Iya may have been a blind pregnant woman, but she could take care of herself. Besides, he hadn't even asked her… she'd volunteered to do it.

"3…" Iya's voice rang out over the roar of the engines as a hand went over to her growing belly. "2… 1…" She waved her raised arm downward to signal the beginning of the race and the two vehicles sped off.

The blind woman was then lead off the road by one of the crowd members, as the two cars continued down the old road of the old industrial park.

For a good few seconds the fight for the lead kept teetering by inches, one car slightly edging higher up the road than the other. Elliot paid no attention to the driver trying to one up him. His eyes stayed trained to his surroundings, taking in everything. After his accident with Benjamin he'd tried to stay away from driving over the speed limit… but once Anya reasoned with him and got him back into racing, Elliot hadn't realized how much he missed it.

Here on the road he felt the most in control. There was no father to judge him or accident to feel guilty about, there was just him and the road. The other racer didn't even matter. When Elliot raced he didn't see them. They didn't matter. He was it his own little world.

With this mind set, Elliot soon found himself burning the competition leaving a nice long gap in between the cars. The makeshift finish line was coming into view at this point and, forming the faintest smile with his lips, the young man crossed over it with a long skid mark painting the asphalt.

Baldy passed over the line seconds afterward and stepping out with a slightly defeated look, surprisingly he looked a bit cool about the fact that he'd just lost his car.

Elliot met the strange man somewhere in the middle of the road.

"Looks like I lost." Baldy sighed lightly and tossed the keys over a bit too quickly.

Something didn't feel right about this guy.

* * *

><p><em>Twenty – three<em>.

Elliot was kind of at a loss as he started at the child being thrust into his line vision, behind it a grinning Anya giggled. "Thank you for watching him."

"…What?" He frowned.

"I'm sorry, Elliot, I told her you wouldn't want to. We can just take him." Iya apologized from somewhere behind him.

His cousin snorted, "He already agreed to it. Besides, I'm taking you out for a _break_ from the baby, you can't bring him."

Elliot furrowed his brow, "When did I agree?"

"This morning. I knocked on the door and asked. You said 'Yeah, sure, whatever'… remember?"

For a moment he didn't but soon recollection hit and he grimace slightly. He'd been barely awake when she'd asked and he hadn't even heard her clearly, he had just wanted her to go away so he could have a few more minutes of sleep.

"So anyway, you agreed and can't back out now." The toddler was placed into his lap.

Supporting the child's back with his hand so it wouldn't fall, Elliot sighed, "Why me?"

"Hiro at work and Tony's in The Hub, so don't bother him." Anya warned. The Hub was everyone's fancy way of naming the room where Tony kept all his computers. If he was in there it meant he was working on something for his father, or doing some side project… either way when he was in there he didn't like to be bothered. "You can just call us if you need anything, we'll keep our cells on."

"…Whatever." Elliot sighed, which Anya took as a sign of defeat.

"Alright, Iya, let's go!" The annoyance sang over her shoulder as she trotted down the steps toward the garage.

"Coming!" The Native American called after the woman and turned her attention to Elliot. "Are you sure it's alright?"

"…It's fine." He told her, though his voice didn't sound completely fine with it. "Go have fun or whatever..."

Iya smiled, "Thank you." Using her hands as guidance she made her way over toward him, "Where is he?" She questioned, looking for her son.

Taking her hands, Elliot brought them to the toddler on his lap, "Here."

The woman's smile widened slightly as she ran her hands over the child's face and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Kikawaapamin mino*, Bamidii." She said in her native tongue. Ruffling the child's hair softly, she stood straight and addressed Elliot. "We shouldn't be too long."

He nodded in reply, forgetting for a moment that she couldn't see the action. Correcting himself he added an, "Alright."

Iya left after an exchange of goodbyes and Elliot was left with the quiet one year old sitting in his lap.

The two of them eyes each other for a moment, the smaller of them cocking his head slightly in order to see Elliot out of his only good eye. He was blind in the other.

Bamidii soon got bored with the starting contest and turned his attention to the stuffed panda in his chubby little fingers, which he munched on with what little teeth he had. The little one, Elliot had grown to notice, was a nice balance of both his mother and his father. Bamidii was quiet like Hiro, but he had his mother's good nature and independence. The kid was a bit on the shy side though, which neither of his parents really were, but that was fine. He was more tolerable that way in Elliot's opinion.

For a moment, the man's mind flashed back to Benjamin who used to be anything but quiet. His younger brother didn't know the meaning of the words "Sit still." Elliot could still remember the boy's antics and how he'd always ask to be taken places. Elliot used to give into the boy's pleads every now and then, but he wished he would have done a little more, given him a few more good memories.

Elliot's musings were interrupted when Bamidii's hand clamped around the American's nose. The tot stood up on his lap and was trying to keep his balance. Bamidii's brown eye scanned Elliot's face as the man's gently removed the boy's hand and held it to hold him steady. The boy's eye brows scrunched together and his free hand went to the man's mouth.

For a moment, Elliot was confused with the gesture, but eventually recognized it. It was how he communicated with Iya. "Hungry?" He questioned, to be sure he was right.

Bamidii nodded.

Grabbing the kid under his arms, Elliot hoisted the tike up and stood. Letting the little one rest at his hip, the two headed over to the kitchenette. Pausing, Elliot scanned the shelves. What was it that babies liked to eat? He couldn't remember and it wasn't like he usually paid much attention to Bamidii anyway. In fact, this was probably the first time they'd been left alone together. Elliot tried to stay clear of children if he could help it. Most reminded him of his brother which in turn reminded him of the accident and how it'd been his fault.

Frowning, Elliot tried not to keep on that train of thought. Usually he didn't really think about Ben much (well, he did but it was easy to suppress) but the coma patient had been on his mind recently because his mother hadn't stopped in her prodding of wanting him to come back, at least to visit. She'd held off for a few years because she understood he needed time to pull himself together, but the woman was tired of waiting.

Elliot knew he'd have to go back to Florida eventually… but the thought unnerved him.

Brown orbs soon landed on a corner portion of the shelf cleared out specifically for Bamidii's food and shuffled through the choices. He ended up picking a box of baby cookies, since he didn't feel like feeding the kid that messy mushy baby slop.

Heading back to the couch, Elliot sat down and placed Bamidii right next to him. Opening the box, he watched in slight amusement as the boy's eyes widened slightly and his hands made grabbing motions in the air. Handing the kid a cookie for each hand, he eyed him as the boy ate for a moment before turning his attention back to the television to do a little more channel surfing.

When Iya and Anya came back later that day, they'd find both boys on the couch fast asleep, Bamidii curled under Elliot's chin.

xXx

He hadn't told Anya or the others where he was going, just that he may be away for a week… possibly two. Elliot never liked other people knowing his plans, it wasn't really any of their business anyway. Not even Greg knew… but the man probably had an idea. There was really only one place someone as lazy as Elliot would go away to for that long. Elliot could only hope that his uncle kept his big mouth shut.

He didn't want his parents to know he was coming just yet.

Taking in a deep breath, Elliot looked around the terminal. The place looked pretty much the same since he'd left Florida years ago.

Heading out, Elliot hailed a cab and set out for the place he felt he needed to visit first. Part of him wanted to save it for last though.

It took longer than he'd have liked for the driver to get him to his destination, but eventually he made it and paid the man his money. Heading into the building, Elliot made his way to the front desk to ask for directions just in case the rooms had shifted—which they had.

It was not long before Elliot found himself standing in front of the hospital room door. He stood there for a long while, not sure if he was ready to go in just yet… but he figured he'd probably never be truly ready to see his brother's face—comma or not.

So, pushing open the door, Elliot stepped inside the dim room. He found Benjamin looking much older than he remembered. How old was he supposed to be now? Nineteen? Twenty? Stepping closer, the young man raised a hand to brush his brother's bangs out of his face. The boy's hair had gotten considerably longer, even if one could tell that it had been cut recently. The corner of Elliot's mouth twitched at the thought. Benjamin never liked getting his hair cut.

Pulling up a chair closer to the bed, Elliot took a seat and took a good long stare at his endlessly sleeping brother. He couldn't get over the fact at how much older he looked after six years. Six years that he'd slept through because of his big brother's carelessness. The older Ben got, the worse it would be for him to catch up with life when he woke up… if he ever woke up.

"…You've got to get up soon, Benjamin…" Elliot caught himself saying lowly, knowing the boy wouldn't be able to hear him. "…You're got to wake up soon."

Elliot sat himself up and took Benjamin's hand into his own. This was his fault.

"I'm sorry…" He hid his glazed over eyes behind his bangs and squeezed the boy's hand. His throat burned from raw emotion. "I'm so sorry…" Waiting this long to say those words still didn't make them any easier to get out.

He stayed like that for a moment, just repeating those words over and over again, low and quiet. Elliot only stopped when the door popped open and a bag hit the floor in surprise. He didn't have to turn around to know it was his mother and he soon found her familiar arms wrapping around his from behind. "Took you long enough," she sniffed.

Elliot just leaned back into her embrace and let his head fall into the crock of her neck. He'd only just realized how much he'd missed her… much, much more than he'd originally thought he had.

How strange.

xXx

It was interesting how some things hadn't changed while other things were completely different.

The things in his room were pretty much in the same place he'd left them… Well, all the things that hadn't been littering the floor. Benjamin's room hadn't been touched much either. The living room, however, was completely switched around, but that wasn't a surprise since his mother liked to rearrange it when she had the time and since she now had a lot time when she wasn't at the hospital with Benjamin the placed looked almost completely different.

Walking down the steps, Elliot took a moment to glance at the picture frames hanging on the wall. They'd been moved around, but she still recognized them all. Closing his eyes for a moment, he scratched the back of his head and headed into the kitchen for something to eat.

"Still sleeping till the afternoon, I see…" a deep and all too familiar voice commented making Elliot pause awkwardly at the Kitchen's entrance. His father sat at the kitchen table, laptop set out in front of him and a cup of coffee in reach. From what Elliot could tell the man looked pretty much the same… it was surprising, though, to see him working in the kitchen instead of his study. That was usually the place he spent most of his time when he wasn't at work.

Elliot's mouth pressed into a thin line, not sure on what to say. After getting home the day before, he'd eaten dinner with his mother (he cooking hadn't gotten any better) and then he'd gone to bed a bit early, the plane ride had tired him out a bit. Mr. Stewart had been working late, again, and so this was the first time he was seeing his father in years.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he father went back to typing while Elliot headed toward the refrigerator. The returnee had decided on making a sandwich when his father spoke again. "How is Toronto?"

Pausing, Elliot glanced at the older man's direction and their eyes met. Retrieving the mayonnaise and cheese from the fridge he shrugged, "Cold."

"And Gregory?"

"Well." Elliot told him with a grunt as he twisted the lid off the mayonnaise jar. There was a short silence before he added, "He moved in with Aunt Fey to take care of her."

Mr. Stewart's eyebrows shot up slightly, "You've met that woman?" He questioned and glanced down at his coffee mug. "How is she?"

"She's got a bad form of Alzheimer's."

"Oh?" Was the man's comment as he lifted the mug to his lips.

"She often forgets my name… sometimes Uncle Greg's too." Elliot explained, eyeing him from the corner of his eye. "She calls me Charlie."

"Charlie…?" The name seemed to hold some significance to him. He regarded Elliot for a moment. "…You do like him… just a bit."

"…He's a person?"

His father nodded, "Her brother—your grandfather. He's dead now though… died before you were born."

Elliot raised a brow at this but didn't say anything. It was the first he'd heard of it. Biting into his sandwich, he took a seat across from his father, eyes glancing out the window.

They sat the rest of the time in silence.

xXx

Elliot woke up to the sound of the strange sound of the smoke detector and the smell of smoke. Sitting up on the couch he turned to the direction of the kitchen and sighed as he listened to the frustrated grumblings of his mother.

Maybe it wasn't Aunt Fey that they had to worry about burning down a house.

Getting up, he headed over to find the woman stand on her tippy toes to try and reach the button on the smoke detector, a tray of burnt lumps on the counter next to her.

Walking over, Elliot reached up and turned the beeping off for her. The woman smiled at him, "Did I wake you?"

Not feeling like answering a question that held an obvious answer, he turned his attention over toward the tray of unidentifiable objects. "What is that?"

"It was supposed to be garlic bread…" She told him pursing her lips in annoyance with her own skills.

Elliot tapped one of them with his nail to find then rock solid. Exhaling he gave her a look. "Just order out."

"That's horrible! You don't think I can cook do you?" She humphed in mock offense, removing her apron.

"Do you?" He deadpanned.

She cracked a grin, "Touché."

xXx

The beach hadn't changed much, Elliot decided as he walked along the shore. It was a bit windy out because of fall so there wasn't too many people enjoying the surf, but it was still a bit crowded for his liking.

Elliot's eyes drifted over to the incoming waves in thought. The beach was probably one of the things he'd missed living in Toronto. He remembered spending lots of time reading wherever he could hear the seagulls and waves. Then there were the times when he took Benjamin, who liked trying to jump the waves and make big sand fortresses.

Closing his eyes, Elliot slid his hands into his pockets. Part of him wanted to just stay in Miami… maybe go the local college and get his master's like his father wanted. He'd already gained his associates in both Sociology and Business at one of the community colleges in Toronto. It'd been a spur of the moment thing, really, he'd been bored and his source of income was the money he racked in at rallies (and selling the parts of cars he won there too) so his days were free. Though, he wasn't sure why he wanted to stay… He supposed if he had to guess it might have been due to his mother's pestering. He figured she was probably lonely since his father was always at work and Benjamin was hospitalized. It was also pretty obvious she wasn't looking forward to when he'd be heading back to Canada.

He didn't really want to stay, though. He'd made a comfortable life in Toronto… (even if he roomated with a spontaneous cousin, a computer genius with a napoleon complex, a blind Indian, a silent Asian, and a half blind baby that was barely learning to walk). Besides, it wasn't like he couldn't continue his education in Canada… and his mother… well, he supposed he could actually give her a ring every now and then. Even if he didn't like using his phone much.

It was sort of funny how the first time he'd left for Canada he hadn't wanted to go… and now he was actually anticipating the trip back.

Just slightly though.

xXx

Exhausted.

That was how Elliot felt as he drove—for the lack of a better word—home. The flight back to Toronto had been hell. The person he'd sat next to decided to chat him up most of the way, not seeming to care much that Elliot didn't stay very engaged in the one-sided conversation. Parking for a brief moment, Elliot got out to open the garage door.

"Hey." A voice called to him, making him pause.

Turning Elliot saw the familiar face of a certain baldy coming toward him. After their race, he saw a lot more of the man around the industrial park. No one knew his name but he came almost every week. The only race he'd partaken in was the one with himself, so no one was really sure what he was doing there… even Anya and that woman had dirt on everyone.

Elliot paused, letting the man walk up to him. "What do you want?" Or better yet, how did he find him?

"Your friends said you'd be back today… I've come to give you something." Baldy explained, reaching in his inner coat pocket. The American watched as he pulled out a crimson envelope and held it out.

Taking it, Elliot looked at the gold letters engraved on the front. "Split/Second…?" He read out loud and looked up to see that baldy had left. Frowning, he opened the envelope.

**Story Two – Elliot Stewart, END. **_**Path Set**_

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Mn. I probably should have worded the last note better. When I said you didn't have to worry about guessing, I just meant that I wouldn't leave you hanging on who's who and such… I like reading who you guys think is which racer. I expect there to be guessing, I just wanted you guys to know I will tell you who is who toward/at the end.

So anyways, Elliot's story was a pain to write in the end It turned out pretty well though. Hopefully, anyway. Sorry it took so long.

Oh, Kikawaapamin mino means "see you later" in Ojibwe/Ojibwa/Chippewa which is Iya's nationality. I hope I got that right. Heh.

Also, I drew a picture for this fanfiction's Image space. Like it?

So anyways thanks again for reading/reviewing, you guys are awesome!


	8. Story 3, Part 1: Happy Days

**A/N: **So, I need to inform you of a few things before we start. This particular backstory focuses around Moscow, Russia and so people will be speaking… well, Russian. I do not know Russian… and I'm sure most of you don't either and so just assume that everyone is speaking in Russian as you read the dialogue.

1. If someone speaks in English it will look like this _"Text"._

2. Sometimes there might actually be a Russian word typed (looking as it would be written in English) (Or just something that may need explaining), they will be underlined.

3. Anything underlined will be explained at the end of the chapter.

I apologize in advance if I get something wrong with the Russian language or culture… I've been doing some research, but I've never been there.

* * *

><p><strong>Story 3 – Sergei Petrov<strong>

Part 1

_Ten._

Exhaling deeply, a boy brushed sandy bangs from in front of ocean blue eyes, paying no attention to the fog that escaped his mouth as he surveyed the area around him. From a distance, he found fresh footprints littering the snow, and a grin, mischievous in nature, formed on his.

Quickly, he dashed through the trees in pursuit of the one who'd left them. The tracks looked just made and he didn't want to lose his target. It wouldn't have been the first time.

He went deeper into the woods, being careful of uplifted roots and the occasional hidden rock. It was probably dangerous to run in such an untamed place, as it was hard to tell what was under the snow and one misstep could end in injury… but wasn't that was part of the fun?

Much to the boy's disappointment, however, the tracks ended almost as abruptly as they had started with no other lead to follow. It was as if his target had disappeared into thin air, which of course wasn't highly possible. Glancing around, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his winter coat in thought. He doubted the target was that smart. He was just missing something.

Looking back to the footprints, he examined them closer and found that they looked a bit deformed. It didn't take long before the light bulb in his head went off. He'd seen it before in a movie. His target had back tracked inside of his own footprints, but had done a sloppy job at it. They looked weird because it wasn't just one set but two of them lying on top of each other.

Wasting no more time, the boy set off back in the direction he had come from. Halfway to where he'd found the trail, his attention was diverted to the snap of a branch. Looking up, he smirked as his blue orbs met a pair of brown ones, peeking out from atop a branch. "Found you."

From up in the tree, his target clicked his tongue, "Damn it. I thought I'd got you this time. You're too good, Sergei." The boy grinned, dropping down at a dangerous height without the slightest hesitation.

Cossacks and Robbers happened to be one of their all-time favorite games, and something they played quite often. Sergei almost never lost when he played as a Cossack.

With a shrug, the master finder grabbed his target's upperarm, it wouldn't have been the first time he'd tried to run and pretend like he hadn't been caught. "I just know all your tricks, Yuri."

The captive snorted at this and rolled his eyes as he dusted the snow off of his winter jacket, "Well, I don't know about that."

Sergei noticed the challenge in his voice and let out a snort of his own. If it was one thing that he knew about Yuri, it was that he had way more confidence in himself than he should have.

Shoving the 'robber' forward, the two boys headed through the snow-covered trees in a content silence. Sergei himself was never much of a conversationalist and there was no doubt in his mind that Yuri was taking advantage of this silence to go over what he could do to improve his next attempt to hide.

Two quiet minutes passed before the boys came upon a clearing were a group of children squatted. One in particular, the only girl, sat Indian-style on a stump with her back to them, attention trained on the three boys in front of her, who sat in a row around a tree with hands behind their backs.

She was the first to hear Sergei and Yuri approach and turned in their direction, a wide grin spreading across her face. "Hey it's Sergei!" She piped up and hopped off the tree stump. "Sergei's found Yuri!" The girl announced to their surroundings, yelling as loud as her little lungs would let her.

A few of the boys flinched as her voice echoed, making their ears ring. For someone so short, Mishka was probably one of the lowest girls they knew. In response, a few voices shouted back to let her know they'd gotten the message.

"Finally!" One of the boys on the ground groaned standing up to stretch his stiff limbs. Filipp had never liked being a robber, he was always caught first and then had to sit out most of the game. It wasn't necessarily that he wasn't a talented hider, it was just that he took too long to find his 'perfect spot', as he often called it.

"Why don't you let Svetlana and me catch a few people sometime?" a bored looking boy complained, face nearly identical to the more feminine version at his side as they entered the clearing through the trees. His name was Ivan and the girl was his twin sister, Svetlana.

"You caught Filipp," Mishka pointed out thoughtfully.

The twin girl snorted, "Anyone can catch him."

"Hey!" said boy exclaimed.

"Well, it is true isn't it?" Yuri questioned, patting the boy's head.

"No!" he growled, swatting the hand away.

"_Sure_," one of the boys still sitting against the tree snickered, nudging the other, "That's about as true as when he said Goga's old bull dog didn't make him run home crying like a little baby!"

"Shut up, Dmitry," Filipp yelled glaring at his so-called friends, "and stop laughing Kazimir it's not funny!"

"Sorry," Kazimir giggled, giving him a look of apology as he covered his smile.

"Don't be sorry," Dmitry scoffed, chuckling, "It's only funny because it's true."

Filipp was one of the youngest in the group and Yuri's little brother. No one ever took him very seriously, not even Dmitry and Kazimir who he hung out with the most. The three of them were a bit like a clumsy, dysfunctional version of the three musketeers. Filipp was the self-proclaimed leader of the trio and the other two just let him think that, or rather Kazimir was too nice to say otherwise and Dmitry just liked to laugh behind "the leader's" back… or at his face, it didn't really matter really.

Mishka smiled sympathetically and rested a hand on Filipp's shoulder. "Aw, it's ok. Goga's dog scares everybody. Its lazy eye seems like follow you around everywhere, right?" she asked as she pointed to her own eye, and then laughed at the image that came to mind.

The boy tensed, the anger toward his friends dissolving under her touch. "A-ah, yeah. E-exactly," he stammered, a pink flush highlighting his cheeks as he looked anywhere but at her. The change in his demeanor going noticed by everyone around, but the girl who'd caused it.

Dmitry grinned at him knowingly and Filipp glared, kicking a clump of snow at his face, "What are you looking at?!"

"Not be shy," Yuri cooed, taking a seat on the stump that had once been occupied, "everyone already knows anyway."

"Knows what?" Mishka questioned in interest and Flilpp shot a look of embarrassed horror at his brother, daring him to answer her question.

"Well… almost everyone," he corrected himself and scooted over so a silent Sergei could take a seat beside him. "Boy, your cousin is quite clueless, huh?" Yuri commented lowly as he watched his brother make up an excuse to get Mishka off his case.

The quiet boy shrugged, tugging at the hood of his coat, as he watched the scene with slight amusement. "Your brother is a bit of a mess too," he countered.

"Touché," Yuri hummed, drumming the tips of his fingers on his knee.

xXx

"Mishka, get up," Sergri grunted, staring down at the sleeping girl, who took up most of the couch.

"Nnnnn…" she muttered drowsily as she stretched out her limps, not bothering to open her eyes.

The boy sucked his teeth, tapping her with a tired hand. "Mishka."

"Nnnnnnn…." She nearly whined, turning away from him and burring her face deeper into his mother's favorite throw pillow.

Sighing, Sergei took a seat on the floor and leaned against the couch, letting his head fall back onto the cushion. Closing his eyes, he decided not to let Mishka's stubbornness get to him. He didn't really blame her after all, it was always a pain to walk home from school. Six blocks forward and back everyday wasn't exactly a walk in the park, more so in the snow. Even for a pretty active kid like himself it was a bit much.

"Serii?" a voice called, small hands patting him in the chest.

Opening his eyes, he rested them on a three year old boy chewing on his lower lip. "What is it, Alexsei?"

"Um, um…" the little one paused, thinking. "Where is Mama?" he asked, taking an unwelcomed seat on Sergei's legs, though the older boy did not bother to move him.

"At work," he answered. It was a question that was often asked once Sergei got home. Almost as if one day he was expecting it to be a different answer, or perhaps he had just truly forgot.

"Oh," Alexsei pouted, sinking a bit. He was used to his mother being home, but a few months ago she had gotten a job. It was a great financial move for the household, but Alexsei missed her a lot.

"Where is my Mama?" Sergei asked, patting the boy's head. He had seen her on the way in, but the woman was always bustling around the flat. It was hard to keep tabs on her.

"Tetya is in the kitchen."

Nodding, the older boy motioned for Alexsei to get off his legs and stood up. "Let's see if she'll let us have a snack," he suggested, holding out his hand for the boy to take.

"Yeah," the little one agreed, taking hold of Sergei's fingers with his little hands.

The two walked into the kitchen to find the woman in question re-organizing the shelves, a sea of boxes, bags, and containers scattered about on the counters. Stretching, she smiled which she saw them. "What are you two up to?"

"Hungry," Alexsei explained, his free hand going to his mouth to tap his teeth absently.

"Oh, so you're hopping I'll let you sneak a snack before dinner… is that is?" Sergei's Mama probed knowingly, putting away the boxes currently occupying her workspace.

"Alexsei is missing Tetya Sophie. Food usually cheers him up," her son explained with a shrug.

Her smile softened in understanding. "Ah I see, well in that case I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let you have a little toffee?"

"Toffee?!" Alexsei cried in surprise and hopped in place, shaking Sergei's arm excitedly in the process. "Really?!"

Mama nodded, "Would I lie to you?" she asked and presented the box of treats onto the kitchen table. "Just don't eat the all. I'm starting on supper soon, and I don't think Baba would be too happy if you ate all of her toffee."

"Ok!" the little one answered a little too quickly as he ran over to sit at the table.

Sergei opened the container for him and placed a few pieces of individually wrapped toffee into the boy's eagerly waiting hands before taking a seat across from him and grabbing a few for himself. As they ate, he listened silently as Alexei chatted away about what he had down while Sergei was at school. It was hard to understand him with a fistful of toffee in his mouth, but he gave the boy his full attention nonetheless.

His mother on the other hand, continued to flutter around the kitchen putting things away into their new places in the kitchen. She only broke from her concentration long enough to correct Alexsei or grab a piece of toffee for herself to enjoy. Sergei offered to help her, but she declined. For her, it was easier to organize things by herself, she would have ended up redoing anything he put away anyway.

A few minutes later, the slamming of the front door and the shuffling of feet signaled the arrival of his grandparents.

"Perdoon Stary. Why come if you are not going to carry anything?" the rough old voice of his grandmother reprimanded. She shifted two brown paper bags around in her arms with slight difficulty as she walked through the kitchen door, Sergei stood up immediately to help her with them.

"I would my Golubushka, but how can I when you refuse to let me?" his grandfather chuckled, hobbling in after her on his cane. He wore a content smile on his face as he patted the boys on the head and gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek.

"Bah!" the old woman snorted, pulling out the groceries while Sergei began to put them away. "Go sit down before you bust your other knee," she grumbled, waving him toward the table.

"Alright," his grandfather complied contently, limping over to take a seat near Alexsei. The little one immediately began pulling the old man into a conversation about his newest obsession: trains.

Sergei and his mother had watched the exchange between the old couple with hidden amusement. It was a common occurrence whenever the two came back from a shopping trip. Grandpa Boris had ruined his knee in a hunting accident a long time ago and couldn't walk well anymore without support from his cane.

Grandma Alena knew this, of course, and rarely let him carry anything. Her complaining was really just her personality. She was blunt and—in Grandpa Boris' own words—"showed her affection through harsh criticism".

Grandpa on the other hand was much more calm and collected. He didn't mind putting up with his wife and often called her personality "cute", which no one else could really get. It was often said that Boris was probably a masochist.

Following his grandfather's example, Sergei put up with his grandmother as she instructed him with great detail on where all the food items were to go and how he was supposed to place them. Like his mother, she was very specific on where things were mean to be, but the difference was that she didn't mind having someone else place it for her as long as she supervised.

When he was finished putting up the groceries, the two women shooed the males back into the living room where they sat around the television to watch whatever channel the three of them could agree on. After, of course, finally waking up Mishka and sending her into the kitchen to help. Being half-asleep, the poor girl almost ran into a wall on the way in.

After a few minutes of a certain little boy commenting on everything that took place in the show, the front door opened again, this time revealing an exhausted looking blond woman in a pencil skirt and a tight fitting blouse. Upon hearing her come in, Alexsei instantly shot off the couch and latched himself around the woman's knees. "Mama!"

The woman, Sergei's Aunt Sophie, smiled. "How was your day, Alexsei?"

"Good! Tetya taught me how to count by twos!"

"She did? That's wonderful, you are going to be so smart when you start school next year," she praised him, learning down to give him a big hug. "Where is your sister?"

"In the kitchen with Tetya and Baba."

Standing back up, she greeted everyone with a kiss on the cheek and headed into the kitchen to see the women. Alexsei, happy after finally seeing his mother, began to pull Sergei and his Grandfather into another conversation about trains.

By the time it was over, the table had been set and everyone gravitated toward it just as the door opened for the third time, letting the bearded and slightly husky man known as Sergei's father walk in, whistling _Korobushka_.

Sergei's mother smiled instantly, setting down the last of the food on to the table with a little more force than necessary, before ripping off her oven mitts. She half trotted, half jogged, toward him and flung her arms around his neck. "Welcome home," she greeted eagerly and he kissed her forehead in response.

After helping Papa out of his coat, Mama followed him to the table and sat at one end of it, while he took the other. Nods and greeting were given before everyone dug in to their meal.

Around the table, everyone exchanged stories of their day. Sergei's mother began by talking about Alexsei's progress in counting by 2's. She quizzed him a bit to show everyone how far he could go. He was able to reach up to twelve by himself and then whenever he got stuck Grandpa Boris would lean over and help him with a hint. He made it to twenty before he got bored and stopped.

Aunt Sophie was then next, and as per her usual she complained about a few of the idiots at the office she worked for and how annoying it was to have to remind them that she was an accountant, not a secretary. She attempted to code some of her harsher insults about them, for the children's sake, but Sergei understood most of it and Mishka even caught on to a few.

Deciding to add to conversation, Grandma Alena talked about an idiot cashier that she'd had to deal with, who'd—in her own words—"tried to rip her off". Grandpa Boris, having been there to witness the altercation, defended the poor boy a bit by stating that she'd just read the sales signs wrong. The woman denied it, but everyone knew it to probably be true. It was a well-known fact that she needed glasses but refused to wear any.

Aunt Sophie brought this up, to which Grandma Alena snapped and flipped it around to her daughter's lack of a love life. She didn't like that Sophie was divorced with two children and didn't hesitate to bring it up whenever she got the chance, no matter who was in the room. "You should be re-married by now," she told her between bites of food.

"Must we do this now, Mama?"

She was ignored as Baba continued her little rant. "What you need is a good Russian man with a job so that you don't have to go to work and your sister wouldn't have to raise your children."

"Mama!" Sergei's mother objected.

Aunt Sophie held up her hand, signaling to her sister that she could handle it. "There are no good Russian men out there. They are either married, gay, or don't live here in Moscow."

"Nonsense. I could find you a good man."

"I don't need your help, Mama."

"Bah!"

Sergei's mother decided to interrupt a second time before the conversation could get any more heated. Must to her son's displeasure, she brought the attention onto Sergei who had yet to share his day.

Staring at his plate, he gave a nonchalant shrug. He wasn't really much of a storyteller, and usually tried to avoid it when he could. Though, feeling he needed to say something he gave a few small details about Yuri volunteering him and Ivan as his partners for their class presentation in a few weeks.

Mishka, seeing how uncomfortable her cousin was, then took over and told a lively tale about the story she created for a class project and the grade she'd received on it. She was good at anything that had to do with her being creative and it was no surprise that it was one of the best in her class. She had worked her butt of writing and illustrating the story. Grandpa Boris asked her to read it to him as soon as she got it back.

The conversation moved on and everyone looked to Sergei's father to retell his day, but he managed to get out of it by stating it had been "no different from any other day" as he always did. It was safe to say that Sergei got his personality from his father.

The rest of dinner was filled with debates on whatever came up in their banter. When everyone was done, no one left any food on their plate and barely had room for Mama's Pirog, but that managed to eaten up too. When it came time for bed, the children were excused while the table was cleared.

Alexsei protested a bit at the notion of going to bed, but Mishka and Sergei happily complied. It had been a long day, and all they wanted to do was feel the sweet softness of their pillows. Jumping into bed as soon as it was in sight, Sergei went to sleep with the sounds of his father and grandfather's drunk laughing echoing down the hall, into the crack of his opened bedroom door.

xXx

Crushing the fallen snow in the palms of his hands, the dirty blond was caught off guard as an icy ball kissed the side of his face.

"Bull's eye!"

Cringing at the cold sensation, Sergei glared in the direction of Yuri who grinned victoriously a few feet away. "Cheap shot," he complained, his frown turning into a smirk as he ran toward his friend, newly formed snowball at the ready.

Seeing the incoming threat, Yuri sprinted away instantly, a vengeful Sergei at his heels. The ball was thrown and he ducked, the snow missing him completely and hitting an unsuspecting Svetlana dead in the face, cutting her off mid-sentence in her conversation with Mishka.

Both boys froze instantly, Yuri backing away to Sergei's side as the girl's face went from shocked to furious. A few moments of dangerous silence passed by before the males bolted, Svetlana not too far behind as she did her best to grab as much snow as possible in retaliation.

Giggling, Mishka hopped up on her stump and shouted, "Snowball fight!" to the rest of their group, who didn't hesitate to pick sides and get in on the fun.

Alliances were formed: Sergei, Yuri, Mishka, and Ivan versus Flilpp, Dmitry, Kazimir, and Svetlana.

And the terms were simple: Ten minutes to make a fortress, no hiding rocks inside of snowballs, and the first team to surrender or have their fortress overrun/destroyed loses.

Since no one had a watch, Dmitri tried to cheat by firing a snowball prematurely, hitting Ian in the back of the head. In response, Yuri returned fire with one of his own and sparked the start of the battle with only partly finished defensive barriers on both sides.

The battle was a fierce one. With the experience of Yuri and Sergei, their team's throwing was precise and the snowballs themselves were packed so tight it almost hurt to get hit by one. They were almost as hard as baseballs.

Filipp's team on the other hand was like a snowball machine. They could make double the snowballs it took the other team to make, but sometimes they weren't packed tight enough and crumbled in midair before they could even hit their target.

A classic fight of quantity versus quality.

"It was a bad idea to piss off Svetlana…" Ivan told his team captain as he did his best to dodge snowballs and finish off their snow fort at the same time. "She's got the best aim next to you and Yuri."

"It's Yuri's fault for ducking. He should have just taken a snowball to the head like man," Sergei grunted jokingly as he threw another snowball over the barrier.

"Where's the fun in that?" Yuri interjected, not bothering to crouch behind the fort as he tightened a snowball Mishka had handed to him. "Anyway, a pissed off Svetlana just makes for a better game," he chuckled and of course, as he said this, a rather large chunk of snow connected with his head.

Svetlana laughed at him from the other side of the clearing. "Bull's eye," she purred, repeating his phrase from earlier.

Trying to look annoyed, Yuri attempted to frown but he lips couldn't help curving into an amused smirk. "Very funny."

* * *

><p><em>Thirteen.<em>

"Wait for it…" Sergei could hear his Papa command in a hushed tone just to the right of him. "Line it up. No sudden movements."

These were the same words he'd been telling him for months now during their practice sessions, but he still felt that they helped him. His father's voice had always been a calming one. He felt his shoulders relax and adjusted his line of sight. Looking through a scope still took a lot to get used to.

"That's it, you've got it," his grandfather added in encouragement on his left. He had been so quiet Sergei had nearly forgotten he was there.

"Easy now, don't get distracted," Papa warned and the teen nodded.

Taking a moment to blink, Sergei focused his attention on the white ball of fluff a few yards away. It was a rabbit, blatantly unaware of their presence as it munched on the few treats they had placed out to lure it. The little creature would soon be his first kill. His father and grandfather had taken time out of their day for the last few months to get him prepared for it.

Sergei had already known how to shoot a gun. He had already practiced on cans and bottles, but it wasn't the same as shooting animals. There were certain places on different animals that his Papa preferred the prey be shot. It ended their life quicker and made it less likely to make a mess or leave shrapnel in the good part of the meat. His family hunted, but they tried to do it humanly.

"Anytime you're ready."

Inhaling, he took that as signal to shoot and aimed the barrel of his shotgun to point just behind the rabbit's ear. Exhaling, he pulled the trigger and watched as the animal hit the ground, blood pouring out of a fresh wound. It wasn't breathing.

"Good job," Papa complemented, patting his son's shoulders roughly as the three of them got up to get a closer look at the lifeless body

Feeling uneasy, Sergei kept himself at a bit of a distance, face paler that usual. A bit of guilt seemed to push at his chest as he looked at the little thing. He had eaten rabbit meat on more than one occasion and loved the taste, but at the moment he wasn't really looking forward to eating this one.

His grandfather cast him a knowing glance. "Don't worry. You'll get used to it."

xXx

The sickening snap that followed his fall out of the tree was all that Sergei heard before a numbing pain shot up his nervous system and he was on the ground foaming at the mouth. "Ah!" he choked out, clutching his leg. He didn't need to look at it to know it was bending out at the wrong place.

"Crap," Yuri's voice entered his ears as her came to his aid. "Ivan, go get his mom."

"Ah!" Sergei repeated, squeezing his eyes shut as hot tears began to run doing his face.

"Oh man, I think it's broken…" he friend deduced, sounding a bit sick at the sight, but Sergei barely heard him over his own moans and heavy breathing.

"It… _feels_ broken," he replied after taking amount to swallow all his excess saliva. He squinted his eyes in an attempt to make out Yuri's face, but the pain in his leg was clouding his head.

"Uh… It'll be fine," the teen assured, trying to hid his slight panic, "It's probably not that bad…"

Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath, not having enough energy to tell Yuri that his lying wasn't really helping much.

"Sergei!" the familiar voice of his mother cut in and he opened his eyes long enough to see her rushing toward him. She looked frantic, something he hadn't really seen on her face before. It made her look kind of like a deer caught in headlights… and if he wasn't in so much pain he may have laughed.

But the pain was getting to him and he could feel himself losing consciousness. He could hear them telling him to stay awake, but all he wanted to do was sleep. So he did.

xXx

Sergei stared boredly at the cast on his leg and took it was a reminder of the stupidest thing he'd ever let Yuri talk him into doing.

Jumping from the tree to the shed roof? What was he thinking?

Nothing, according to Grandma Alena. She practically chewed him out about the whole thing. "You are just like your grandfather," she had told him, "young and reckless and stupid" to which Grandpa Boris had stated that he had actually done things more reckless than simple height jumping. "Don't encourage him," she had warned, and then hit them both in the shoulder.

His mother and father hadn't approved every much of his actions either. Though they hadn't been as nagging as his grandmother, they had forbid him from trying it ever again. Not that he would ever do it a second time.

Propping up his pillow, Sergei directed his stare toward the ceiling and let out a sigh.

Over the week he'd stayed in his room because of his broken leg. A week of nothing but sleeping, eating, and occasionally being checked up on by his mother.

It was safe to say that his days were rather dull, and he actually found himself wanting to go to school and see his knuckleheaded friends. It defiantly sounded better than staying home with nothing to do.

Absently, he wondered what time it was. Mishka and Alexsei should have been on their way home soon. At least around them it wouldn't feel as lonely and empty. They tended to talk a lot, but that was fine. Sergei didn't mind listening, he just wasn't much of a talker.

Adjusting his pillow, Sergei decided to take another nap. He figured, if anyone needed him, they knew where to find him. Though, just as he closed his eyes to sleep, his mother stepped into the room, giving a soft knock on the open door.

Inwardly, he sighed, it would only figure that the moment he stopped wanting company, someone would decide to come to him. Opening one of his eyes, the teen answered his mother with a slightly tired, "Yes?"

Mama frowned, "Oh. Where you sleeping?" she pointed down the hall, "Your friends want to see you. Should I send them away?"

Straightening himself at the information, he shook his head. "No, let them in."

The woman smiled, "Alright."

She left the room and a moment later his group of friends filled in, led by Yuri and Mishka who showed them all the way.

"You look bored," Yuri grinned, plopping down on the edge Sergei's bed, "Miss us?"

"I was enjoying the silence, actually," the injured teen joked, lightly kneeing his friend in the back with his good leg.

"That's an awesome cast," Flilpp commented with interest, eyeing Sergei's injury for the first time. "Can I write on it?"

"If you can find something to write with…"

"Awesome," he grinned, and went hunting around the room for a marker.

"Oh, here's the stuff you missed in class," Svetlana explained off handedly as she pulled out a stack of papers from her bag. She handed them over to her brother, who handed them to Sergei.

"Thanks," he told her, setting them down on his nightstand.

"When can you go back to school?" Yuri questioned, eyeing the cast.

"Monday. I'll be on crutches though."

The blond nodded absently. "Well, you missed all the fun today. Filipp completely embarrassed himself in front of a certain someone today."

"Eh? When? Who?" Mishka interjected with curiosity.

Flilpp went tensed, pausing in his search to glare at his brother. "Shut up, Yuri!"

"Fell flat on his face trying to be all impressive at football," Svetlanna snickered alongside Ivan.

"Oh I remember that!" the boy's 'secret' crush giggled.

His face went red and he turned his glare onto the twins, "Dmitry tripped me!"

Said male held up his hands in a defensive gesture, "Not this time. It was all you buddy."

"Sounds like fun," Sergei commented with a chuckle and watched as Flilpp turned back to continue his search, albeit a bit furiously. "Check the middle drawer under the desk," he guided as the boy seemed to get a bit more frustrated at the lack finding a decent utensil.

"Yuri's one to talk," Ivan interjected coyly, "Didn't Svetlanna's team score half their points during your so-called 'full proof' defense strategy?"

The blond huffed at this, "Only because I let her. It would be embarrassing for her if we had been her with too much of a spread in the score. What would be the fun in that?"

"Let me?" Svetlanna scoffed, leaning forward. "Why don't you just admit that I out smart you in strategy?"

"Then I would be lying." He smirked.

"Found it!" Flilpp called out just in time to start the argument from escalating any further.

Watching as everyone gathered to sign his cast, Sergei found himself smiling.

* * *

><p><em>* Cossacks and Robbers is basically Cops and Robbers.<em>

_*Tetya is Aunt._

_*Baba is sort of a child-ish way of saying Grandma._

_* Perdoon Stary is Russian for Old Fart._

_*__Golubushka is Russian for Little Dove._

_*Korobushka (Tetris Song) is a popular Russian song. It's awesome, look it up._

_*Pirog is a pie filled with various fillings that are usually sweet, which is why it's typically saved for desert._

Hopefully this was alright. Sorry if you see any mistakes or anything, I'm a bit drugged up on pills I have to take for having my wisdom teeth removed. Also, sorry this took so long. Slowly but surely I'm getting everyone done. Hope I didn't disappoint!


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